


Yesterday is Here

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (briefly from one of the Jons), (except for Prentiss and Orsinov), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Time Travel Fix-It, Updates Weekends, and I’m only adding that because I know how stressful it is, rating is for lots of swears and minor worms, the background relationships are Melanie/Georgie and Daisy/Basira, this is the first time i've used that tag i'm so excited, to read a long fic with the ending not guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: "Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking.The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him."I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.--------Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Minor or Background Relationship(s), x2!
Comments: 2908
Kudos: 5202
Collections: Repulsed/Averse Ace Jon Archivist





	1. You, from the future

**Author's Note:**

> _If you want to go_  
>  _Where rainbows end_  
>  _You'll have to say goodbye_  
>  _All our dreams come true, baby up ahead_  
>  _And it's out where your memories lie…_  
>  ~[Yesterday is Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Dnv5L59eSo), by Tom Waits
> 
> Significant chunks of conversation throughout this story are taken directly from episodes and reworded/recontextualized. I’m not going to cite them all, but if any piece of dialogue starts to feel _really_ familiar… that’s probably why. Feel free to ask for sources if you can’t place the episode, I know where they come from.
> 
> Chapter One: Early Dec 2015

Jon let out a breath as he set the statement down, reaching over to stop the recording. It was only a few paragraphs, just another test, and now came the proof-

He clicked play. Static blared out of his laptop speakers, louder than it should be at the level his volume was set. A few words could be made out - his own name, _statement of,_ and a random, surprisingly clear _and_ in the middle of the recording. The rest was incomprehensible. 

He sighed. He'd had IT in to look at it yesterday, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the facts: his laptop was not the problem. Most of the statements he read recorded fine, and the statements that didn't... well. They didn't record on Sasha's computer either. Or Tim's. Or Martin's. Or on any of their phones.

He'd unearthed an old tape recorder in storage yesterday, along with a box of cassettes. He... _really_ didn't want to have to use it. It was cumbersome, old fashioned, and would complicate the organizational system of the Archives even more than it already was if half the audio recordings were in a different format than the others. Still, it would be better than nothing. 

It was sitting on the desk near his elbow, right next to a mug of lukewarm tea that Martin had brought by earlier. Jon curled his lip. Speaking of annoyances...

He shook himself. Not the point, not the current issue. He _would_ dispose of the tea before trying the tape recorder, though. The idea of using it was setting his teeth on edge, and he'd take the excuse to put it off a little longer.

His three assistants were hauling boxes in the corridor as he passed by. Tim gave him a cheery wave, balancing his box with one arm; Sasha smiled, keeping both arms firmly around her box; and Martin-

Martin tried to wave, and dropped his box on the floor, sending a tidal wave of old paper spilling out across the scuffed wooden boards. Jon winced. 

"Oh, god, sorry! Sorry, I'll just-"

Martin dived for the papers, scrambling to pick them up. Jon rolled his eyes and continued walking.

 _"Do_ try to be a bit more careful, Martin, we have enough to organize as it is."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just-" Jon was gone before he could finish the sentence. 

The breakroom was blessedly quiet. Jon dumped the tea down the sink, rinsing the mug and leaving it in the rack to dry. He stretched, trying to ease some of the tension out of his shoulders. It wasn't that he _disliked_ Martin, per say, it was just...

Well, it would have to be _him,_ wouldn't it? First time he was _actually_ assigned to a position of responsibility, and he gets Martin Blackwood on his team. Martin Blackwood, king of accidents and delays, who never seemed to be entirely at fault for things going wrong but who always made a project take twice as long as it would have otherwise. 

That was probably an unfair exaggeration. Jon didn't care.

He took a detour through the main storage area on his way back to his office. It was a large room, as large as the library a few floors up, and absolutely packed with shelves of paper. Some was loose, some in boxes, all of it crammed in wherever space allowed with no apparent rhyme or reason.

Two hundred years of clutter. And he was supposed to organize it.

There was an odd creaking sound from behind a shelf. Jon frowned. Was one of the shelves going to collapse again? He'd thought the ones in here were sturdier than the ones in his office... could be wrong, though.

He crossed over, rounding the corner to find-

A door. A yellow door, in the middle of a shelf, bisecting the boxes and files that filled it as though it were meant to be there. It was hanging open half an inch, invitingly. Jon's stomach dropped. He had a... _thing,_ about doors.

It creaked open a bit more, and he stumbled backward, away from the dark emptiness on the other side and whatever many-legged horror was about to-

A grunt, and an oof of pain. A man tumbled out, landing on his hands and knees on the floor in front of Jon. He had long hair, dark skin; his right hand bore the marks of a severe burn, clenching and unclenching against the floor. His left had a small silver ring around the fourth finger. His sweater was baggy, hanging off one side to expose a bone-thin shoulder, and all in all Jon found him entirely unthreatening, despite the oddity of his appearance in the Archive.

"What the hell?"

The man froze for a second, then scrambled to his feet. The door behind him shut as he did so, and- and there was no door, just the same unaltered shelves as there had always been, and Jon found himself trying desperately to focus on this and not the face in front of him because the face in front of him was-

His own.

Pockmarked with scars. Weathered, with lines around his eyes that Jon did not have. More grey in his hair, a true salt-and-pepper instead of the few silver streaks in his own. Wide, startled eyes that he knew from the mirror, and a growing smile stretching that impossible face in an expression of disbelief. 

"It actually worked..." The voice was his as well. A bit softer, a bit less of the forced professional tone Jon tried to maintain, but incontrovertibly, undeniably, _impossibly,_ his. 

"Who the _hell_ are you?" He could feel his hands shaking.

The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at Jon.

"I'm you, from the future!" Then he swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

~~~~~

"He a relative, or something?" Tim's words were hushed.

"Not that I know of. I don't exactly have a big family."

The four of them were huddled around the door to the old document storage room. There was a cot pushed up against one wall, and in it slept a figure that...

Well. Looked like Jon.

Martin bit his lip, glancing between the two. According to Jon he'd just shown up in the Archives through some weird portal, claimed to be a time traveler, and fainted. They brought him through to here to recover - and Martin had _not_ been pleased to find out Jon had a cot in here in case he decided to _not go home at night_ \- but that was an issue for another day.

"D'you think we should get him to a hospital?" This from Sasha, ever the practical one.

"I don't know." Jon was barely taking his eyes off the man. If Martin was any judge, this was _really_ freaking him out.

"I know some first aid," he volunteered. "If someone has a torch...?"

Tim wordlessly pulled out his keychain, disconnecting a small LED torch and passing it over to Martin. Martin took it, and then took a hesitant step closer to the cot. Then another, and, when it seemed like the man wasn't about to wake up and panic, a few more until he could kneel down next to the recumbent figure.

He reached out, placing two gentle fingers against the man's neck to check his pulse. Steady and even, nothing to worry about there. Martin wished he could say the same for his own. Or at least, he wished he could explain away his racing heart entirely with fear. 

The thing was, though... Martin was a caretaker. Always had been. And he'd long since stopped trying to tell himself he didn't think Jon was attractive. So combine _attractive_ with _unconscious, vulnerable,_ and _definitely in need of a caretaker,_ and... well. Martin's heart was racing. Even though this wasn't actually _Jon._

He turned the man's head, looking for any signs of bleeding, then lifted one of his eyelids and shone the torch in his eyes. Again, nothing to worry about. He leaned back, letting the man's eye drift shut again.

"Pupil dilation normal, I don't think he's got a concussion." Martin set the torch aside, glancing back at Jon and the others. "It really is uncanny, though. He's an _exact_ copy... well, ignoring the scars."

"Right? Sure you don't have a twin, boss?"

Jon waved off Tim's comment. _"Positive._ I don't know who this is, or what he's playing at, coming here, but I've never seen him before."

There was a soft sound behind Martin, and he turned. The man on the cot was stirring, eyes blinking open, one hand reaching up blearily to rub at his face.

"Martin...?"

Martin frowned. How did he know his-

The man smiled, suddenly, with a warm affection that took Martin's breath away. His hand came up to gently cup Martin's cheek, and Martin froze at the soft touch.

"Hey there." Then the smile dropped. The gentle hand shifted, moving up to examine his forehead. "What happened to your scar?"

"My what?"

"Who are you?" Jon's voice was sharp. He took a few quick steps forward, grabbing Martin's arm to pull him away from the cot. The man sat up, awareness creeping back into his eyes, and then froze when he saw the other figures in the room.

"Tim?" His voice was low and rough. "Sasha?"

"How do you know our names?"

Sudden tears filled the man's eyes at her words. He covered his mouth with one hand. "Sasha... it's _you."_

"Yeah. The question is, who are _you?"_

"I..." The man's breath hitched. His eyes were darting between Tim and Sasha, unable to settle, and his shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Answer her question."

 _That_ pulled his gaze away. The doppelganger turned to look at Jon, taking a deep breath and using one hand to swipe away the dampness from his eyes. "It's like I said. I'm you, from a future I desperately hope I will be able to prevent."

Jon's eyes narrowed, and Martin found himself glancing back and forth between the two again. It was... _impossible,_ how similar they were. The face, the voice... Martin had spent a long time learning the many looks and tones of Jonathan Sims, and this man shared them all. 

Jon's chin tilted up slightly in a challenge. "Do you have any proof to support this claim?"

A small smile flickered around the man's mouth, one Martin had seen Jon wear before when he was about to deliver the final, crushing point in an argument he knew he would win. "Only this: that I know things about you that you have never told another living soul."

"Such as?"

The man's eyes narrowed, matching Jon's expression. His voice dropped into a deeper register, and Martin felt a shiver go up his spine at the sinister tone of it. 

"Mister Spider wants more."

Jon paled and took a step backward. Martin raised a hand to catch his arm, steadying him.

"How...?"

"I told you." The man stood, straightening his sweater and brushing his long hair back from his face. "I'm you."

There was a long, silent moment while the two stared at each other. Then Jon began nodding, still pale, still shaking slightly, though he brushed off Martin's hand and stood on his own.

"I believe you."

"Say what?" Tim's words came out on a snort. "You, Jonathan 'the skeptic' Sims, believe in time travel? Just because this guy-" he jerked his thumb at the imposter "-said something about spiders?"

The man turned to Tim with a raised eyebrow and half-smile. "I'd forgotten how much you laughed."

"Okay, now that's just creepy." Sasha took a step forward, moving in front of Tim protectively.

"Sorry." The man was still smiling. "I've just missed you."

"How does that work, then?" Martin's own voice came out louder than he intended. He flushed as everyone turned to look at him. "I'm just saying. You say you're _him-"_ a nod toward Jon "-from the future, and you say you missed _them-"_ pointing to Tim and Sasha "-but you expected _me_ to have a scar on my head, weren't surprised _at all_ to see me there when you woke up. So why not _them?"_ Tim and Sasha again.

Once again he found himself trapped in a warm gaze, laden with emotions he wouldn't dare pin a name to. The man raised a hand, traced a line down his own forehead. The ring on his finger flashed in the light.

"Here," starting an inch above his left eye, "to here," across his temple to his ear. "Falling roof tile from a house in Scotland. And I expected you here because you were supposed to come with me. As for them..." Martin took a deep breath as the man's eyes moved back to Tim and Sasha. "...I lost them a long time ago. There's a reason I want to change the future."

Sasha frowned, and Tim started laughing again. "Are you saying we _died?"_ The man's gaze didn't waver. Tim's laugh trailed off. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Yikes."

"So how _exactly_ do you plan to change things?"

Martin jumped at the voice beside him. Jon again - _his_ Jon, young Jon, unscarred Jon, who didn't look at him like he was the only person in the entire universe that mattered - but their voices were so similar that it took him a moment to realize it.

The other Jon - and Martin found it was easy enough to think of him that way, putting a name to the familiar face - started ticking things off on his fingers. "CO2 at Vittery's, quarantine the table, warn _her_ off of India, keep _them_ from joining the Institute, talk to Michael _before_ he gets to Helen, probably still take down the Unknowing for _his_ sake but safer this time, probably still get Gerry back from the Hunters but, again, safer this time, avoid any and all murder charges, and a hell of a lot of inaction where I made the wrong moves last time around. But first-" and he closed his hand into a fist. "I need to make sure Elias knows _exactly_ who he's dealing with."

"Okay, none of that makes sense, but _especially_ that last bit. What does _Elias_ have to do with anything?" Sasha seemed remarkably unfazed by his speech. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

Jon - scarred Jon - smiled. It was cold, and it was cruel, and there was no mercy behind it. _"Everything."_


	2. Wiser, Older, Kinder, Colder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early Dec 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY COW I DID NOT EXPECT THIS TO RECEIVE THE RESPONSE IT DID I’M SO EXCITED YOU GUYS
> 
> So, uh, a few things:  
> A. THANK YOU SO MUCH!  
> B. To anyone who's worried about S4!Martin, please let me direct your attention to the "happy ending" tag above. I finished writing it yesterday, it’s so soft.  
> C. Welcome to yesterday. I hope you enjoy the ride...

Jon took the stairs out of the Archives two at a time, leaving his past self and friends behind. He was more shaken than he would have expected, seeing them: Tim, still carefree and happy, Sasha...  _ god. _ Just  _ Sasha. _ His own young face he'd been prepared for, and Martin's, though for the latter... he'd rather expected to have his own Martin by his side when facing  _ him. _

He twisted the wedding ring around his finger in an unconscious nervous gesture. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone horribly,  _ horribly _ wrong, but he couldn't think about that right now because he had to deal with Jonah Magnus first.

The main floor of the Institute was a bustling hub of activity, and Jon froze for a moment at the top of the stairs. It had been empty for so long, back where- back  _ when _ he came from. He'd almost forgotten how alive it had once been.

He ducked his head, making his way into the crowd and hoping no one would recognize him. He didn't think it would be an  _ issue, _ per say, if more people found out he was a time traveler... but he really didn't want to be delayed right now.

The route to the Head of the Institute's office was one he knew well, and he allowed his feet to lead the way as his mind worked on the problem of what to say. He had the upper hand in this, he  _ knew _ he did; had been more powerful than Magnus for a long time, though it had taken him too long to realize it. Still, there was the question of how much information to give, and how much to withhold... enough to prove Magnus shouldn't work against him but not enough to give him the  _ means _ to...

His footsteps were muffled on the soft carpeting of the hallway leading to the office. He paused for a second outside the door, debating whether or not to knock... then just pushed it open and walked inside.

"Hello, Jonah."

Magnus's pen clattered to the floor, and his eyes widened. Jon smiled. It felt good to catch him off guard. It was the one victory he'd never managed, the first time around.

"H-hello, Jonathan. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Call me Jon, please. No need for formality between two such old acquaintances as ourselves, is there?"

Magnus's eyes scanned his face, taking in the scars, the lines. He pursed his lips. "You say that, and yet I find myself struck with the certainty that I have never met you before."

"No. But I've met you."

"How remarkable." His composure was coming back; he bent to pick up the pen, laced his fingers together when he straightened. "Time travel, is it? How did you manage that?"

"The Distortion. Turns out it's not just space that gets twisted in those corridors."

"The  _ Distortion?" _ Distaste twisted his features. "That nuisance Michael is still running around, where you come from?"

Jon just smiled. No need to tell Magnus about Helen; he'd been cruel enough to her the first time around, and Jon was hoping he could prevent all of that on the second go. Not that  _ she _ knew that; whatever was left of Helen Richardson had long since forgotten how much she hadn't wanted this, and had helped him and Martin only because she disliked the apocalypse as much as they did. She might have raised more objections if she knew he was planning to keep her human.

Magnus tilted his head. "Why  _ did _ you come back? I didn't send you, did I? I find it hard to believe that I failed, but if so..."

"Oh, no." Jon shook his head. "No, no. You definitely didn't fail. You got everything you wanted."

Magnus's breath caught. "It worked?"

"Yes." Jon spread his arms wide, baring himself for display. "You wanted an Archive. Well...  _ here I am." _ He let a small buzz of power underlay the words.

"Magnificent..." The word slipped out on the barest of breaths; his eyes flicked up to meet Jon's. "But why are you  _ here? _ I don't understand..."

Jon took a step forward. "You got  _ everything _ you wanted. You really expected me to accept the end of the world without a fight?"

Magnus froze for a moment before laughing. "You're here to  _ fight _ me? You? You really think you would stand a chance?" He stood up, placing his hands flat on the desk. "I am more than two hundred years old,  _ boy. _ You may have come from the future, but I can make sure you do not live to see it again."

"You want to bet?" Jon placed his hands on the desk as well, leaning into Magnus's space. He moved back, clearly uncomfortable. "You like bets, don't you? Just like Peter Lukas." A flash of uncertainty in his eyes. "Oh yes. I know about Peter Lukas. I met him. I took his statement. I killed him."

"You? A murderer?" A soft chuckle. "I know you, Jon. I've watched you. You don't have it in you."

"Maybe I didn't. But I do. You forget, I am not the man you have downstairs. I am not the man you know. You twisted me -  _ you, _ with your lies and manipulations, you turned me into what I am now. And now you have to face your creation."

"So what?" Magnus spread his hands. "You are older, more powerful... but you still ran to the past to face me, because you knew you couldn't beat me in your own time. But, my dear Archivist, you forget: your power may have grown over those years, but mine did not. If you could not beat me then, you stand no chance against me now."

"See, the thing is," Jon leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest. He found he was actually  _ enjoying _ this. Normally he was repelled by petty cruelty, but against  _ Magnus... _ well. It felt good, watching him squirm. "The thing  _ is... _ I've already killed you once."

The blood drained from Magnus's face in an instant, and he sat down heavily. "Oh."

"Yeah." Jon grimaced. "Nasty job, too, driving a knife into both your hearts..." he took a moment to let that sink in. "The only reason I'm  _ here, _ in the past, is because an apocalypse is a lot harder to kill than a man."

"I... I see." Magnus's voice was subdued. Jon smirked.

"Huh... funny. Those were your last words over there, as well."

"So you're here to kill me?"

"The thing is - the other thing is - I'd rather not." Jon uncrossed his arms, scratching casually at the back of his neck. This was the important bit, here. Scare tactics done, now he just needed to confirm his advantage while he had the chance. "I'd rather not get set up on a murder charge, and all..." And he'd rather not hear the screams as everyone who was still tied to the Institute collapsed in agony. It hadn't been many, at that point; the ties had been weak enough that they'd all survived. He'd fallen to the floor, clutching Martin to his chest as they both sobbed in pain.

The ties were much stronger, here in the past. It would be carnage.

"So I'm willing to strike a deal."

Magnus looked up, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Yes?"

"You leave me alone - you leave  _ everyone _ alone - and stay up here running the Institute like an ordinary academic institution. You don't interfere with my plans, you authorize as many expenses as need be for me to do what I have to. And I won't kill you."

"That seems like a rather unbalanced arrangement."

"I'm willing to negotiate on the expenses."

"And if I say no?"

Jon narrowed his eyes. When he spoke, he put as much power behind the words as he could muster, all the years of fear and trauma piling up behind his voice in a wave of force that left Magnus gasping and pale in his chair.  **_"Do you really want to test me?"_ **

The power bled from the room slowly. Magnus took a deep breath, straightening his tie. "No. No, I do not."

~~~~~

The young Archives staff were deep in discussion when Jon came back down the stairs. He paused before joining them, chest tight. They were huddled in a small group, heads bent together; Sasha and Tim standing with their arms pressed together, always the inseparable pair, and Martin throwing constant glances at the younger Jon to check on his reactions to every idea that was offered.

He remembered this dynamic. Back then - back  _ now _ \- he'd been annoyed by Martin's attention, convinced the older man (and he  _ had _ thought he was several years older and more experienced, not just the one) was waiting for him to make the slightest mistake and fail. It had been a stupid assumption - Martin had never given any indication he resented his boss being younger and less experienced than he was - and his reaction to it had been even stupider: calling out all of  _ Martin's _ mistakes in hopes it would distract from his own flailing.

What he didn't remember, but was seeing now, was that he was paying as much attention to Martin's reactions as Martin was to his.

He bit back a smile. Well. That certainly lent some support to Martin's theory that he was charming enough that he'd stolen Jon's heart the first time they'd met.

He cleared his throat loudly, announcing his presence. The other Jon jumped, and the rest of the group stepped back so that they could give Jon suspicious looks. He spread his hands, offering a smile. “I’ve done what I needed to do, for the moment. I’m free to answer any questions you may have.”

“Why did you need to see Elias?” Jon watched his own posture shift: a bit defensive, a bit on the attack. He was surprisingly easy to read, or maybe that was just because he knew his own moods.

“He’s the one who launched the events that I came back to stop. I just needed to… make it clear where we stand, now that I’m here.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Tim, with a level of suspicion in his voice that was strongly reminiscent of life post-Leitner. Jon shrugged.

“I threatened to kill him if he tried anything.”

_ “What?” _ Everyone this time, followed by Martin’s stuttering “B-but you  _ wouldn’t, _ you  _ couldn’t!” _ and a vehement “I would  _ never-” _ from his past self.

“Things change.” He watched this sink in; the disbelief and disgust on their faces. It was… he didn’t really know. It ought to bother him more, he knew, that he was a murderer. Even if the only people he had killed were Avatars… well. He was an Avatar too. It was still murder. But things changed. “Surely you have other questions.”

“What events did you come back to stop?” Sasha’s voice was calm. She was still the steadiest of the lot, the only one who didn’t seem on the verge of calling the police.

“Let me begin by asking all of you a question in return. Do you believe – really and truly believe – in the supernatural? Two of you have had direct encounters with it; the others I’m not sure of.” Martin had told him, once, that he’d only started believing once he was working at the Magnus Institute. The conversation had moved on before Jon could clarify if he meant the Institute as a whole, or the Archives in specific.

Slowly, gradually, they all began to nod. The younger Jon ignored the shocked looks the others were giving him, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Good. Good. Then let’s all find a place to sit. This may take a while.”

It took the rest of the day, and even then Jon knew he would be subject to follow up questions for weeks to come. He started simple, reviewing Jane Prentiss’s history and explaining how she planned to attack the Institute, carefully glossing over the weeks Martin had spent – would not spend – trapped in his flat. That would be Jon’s first task, saving him from that, and there was no need to traumatize him with the idea of it when it would never happen. They all gasped in appropriate horror when he explained the pockmark scars; he let them finish reeling over that before launching into the main task.

“So the question now is: how did Jane get the way she is? What force, what  _ power, _ led her to be infested?”

That took… longer. Jon made several trips into the stacks to fetch relevant statements when he knew where they were filed; pilfered the case about the Anglerfish from his own desk to explain about the Stranger; carefully avoided pointing out the way Tim’s eyes widened in recognition when he linked it to the Circus. Gertrude’s murder was a topic they were deeply invested in, and it was with difficulty that he stopped them calling the police immediately. He didn’t give too many details about his own history, other than pointing out various scars: the handprint-shaped burn to drive home the point that there really  _ were  _ people made of melting wax in the world, the slash across his neck to prove that he wasn’t the  _ only  _ one out there threatening murder. He did tell them about his fall into monsterhood, though, and how Elias had used him to end the world. Not the specifics, not the fear and the scars and being more Archive than man; just that it had happened, and that he was determined it would not happen again.

“To this end,” he said, turning to his younger self, “I’m going to be vetting any statements you read before you record them. Any that don’t go on the laptop come to me; you will not read them, you will not research them, you will not send people out into the lion’s den investigating them. There is already an Archivist in this world: you are allowed to remain just the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute this time around.”

He could see the protest in his own eyes, but after a moment it relented. Jon had made sure to heavily emphasize his description of the Web in his explanation, and that fear still lingered. “Fine. But you tell us what’s going on. Don’t leave us in the dark on this.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “I won’t. I learned my lesson about not trusting people a long time ago.”

After that, it was just a matter of promising to tell them before any major events – Prentiss’s first appearance being the one they demanded, but Jon made a mental note to tell Sasha about Michael and warn them all about Breekon and Hope’s delivery – assure them they wouldn’t face any backlash from Elias for the reorganization of the chain of command in the Archives, and quickly mention that  _ oh, by the way, you can’t quit _ before clapping his hands on his knees and declaring that everyone needed to go home and rest. It was abrupt enough to distract them from the ‘can’t quit’ detail, though he knew he’d have to face that later.

He honestly wasn’t sure how much they believed him. He’d given them a handwavy explanation of his own time travel; his younger self’s belief in the truth of his identity certainly lent some credence to his claims, but that only went so far when it came to believing in Smirke’s Fourteen. They didn’t need to believe him, though, as long as they followed his instructions, and the threat of Tim and Sasha’s deaths if they failed was enough to keep everyone well in line.

“Hey Jon?” He jumped. Speak of the devil; Tim had paused in pulling on his coat.

“Yes, Tim?” The words were echoed from behind him. He turned, frowning, to find his younger self glaring back. He glanced back at Tim, who had one eyebrow raised.

“Hey, boss?”

“Yes, Tim?” Echoed again, and there was the taptaptap of an impatient foot on the floorboards behind him. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Hey, guy from my timeline?”

“Ah.” Jon nodded; stepped aside. “Yes, Tim?” was repeated again behind him with a note of smugness to it. Tim shook his head.

“Okay, this is going to get too confusing. We need to do something about this.”

“Agreed.” Sasha wandered into the room with Martin on her heels. “You can’t both be Jon.”

“It  _ is  _ my name.” Both Jons glared at each other this time; Sasha and Tim raised their eyebrows, and Martin clapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

“I’m not going by a nickname.”

Jon nodded in support to that, then chimed in with his own: “Or by Jonathan. It’s one thing to use it professionally, it would just be weird on a day-to-day basis.”

“How about last name for one of them, first name for the other?” Sasha spread her hands reasonably.

“I like it.” Tim gave her a thumbs up and pointed at the younger Jon. “Right. So we’ve got Jon,” and then shifting his finger to Jon, “And Sims.”

Jon frowned. “Why do I have to be Sims? Why can’t  _ I  _ be Jon? I do have seniority.”

“You  _ also  _ happen to be the outsider, in this situation.” The other Jon glared at him.

“Fair enough.” Jon shrugged. He did have a point. Still, though… “But my last name’s not actually Sims anymore. It’s hyphenated.” He held up his hand, putting the wedding ring on full display. His younger counterpart gave it a suspicious look.

“Too confusing.” Tim flapped a hand at him to dismiss the objection. “Sims it is.”

Jon sighed. He supposed it  _ would  _ be confusing, going around as ‘Blackwood-Sims’ when there were both a Blackwood and a Sims around who hadn’t even  _ begun  _ to be romantically entangled with each other; still, he would miss it.

“Fine.” That seemed to be the end of the matter. The other Jon – or, he supposed, just Jon now – moved over to talk to Tim, and Martin and Sasha started gathering their things in preparation to leave. Jon – Sims? No, he was still  _ Jon, _ even if no one was going to be calling him that – sat back against a desk and watched them.

It didn’t feel real. Even though he was here, now, experiencing it… it was like watching a movie, or a particularly vivid memory. His past self was stiff and formal where he stood; Tim and Sasha had the same friendly openness he had always found uncomfortable but now missed so much; and Martin moved like he wanted to disappear, like he hoped no one noticed that he was there. Jon’s eyes lingered on him as he shuffled a few of the papers on his desk, fingers fiddling with his wedding band and a tightness in his chest that he was depressingly familiar with.

They had gone into the corridors together, hand in hand. Helen had assured them she meant no harm. And yet all it had taken was one small slip – one moment of fumbling in pockets as they walked to make sure they still had their notes and supplies, one moment glancing away while their hands were separated… and Martin was gone. Turned down a different corridor or lost in a mirror, Jon couldn’t say. He was just gone.

He knew Martin could take care of himself, of course.  _ He’d _ found his way out of the corridors with no problems, and Martin was likely to follow any time now. Knowing it didn’t ease the fear he felt.

There was a rustling sound and a muffled curse from Martin’s desk. He’d knocked over a stack of files.

“Christ’s sake, Martin, be a little more careful!”

Jon grit his teeth at the venom in his own voice and bit back a sharp retort. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with himself. Instead, he moved from his spot, walking over to where Martin was crouched on the floor hurriedly gathering up the fallen paper.

“Need a hand?”

Martin gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise and apprehension, and Jon’s heart lurched. The thought that Martin had once been so intimidated by him that even the _offer_ of help put that expression on his face… He forced a smile, crouching down next to him and handing him a file.

“I’ve grown up a lot since, well…” He jerked his head across the room at his counterpart, speaking softly. “Sorry about him.”

“It- it’s fine.” Martin was still a bit on edge, but he took a deep breath, losing some of the tension from his shoulders. “Thanks."

“Of course.” Jon passed him the last file and stood, offering a hand to pull Martin up after him. It was a familiar gesture: tug slightly harder than necessary, wrap an arm around him when he leans in, smile and kiss…

He shook his head, releasing Martin’s hand as soon as he was upright. He wasn’t surprised by his own instincts: this was still  _ Martin,  _ even if he wasn’t  _ his  _ Martin. Of course he loved him, of course he wanted to kiss him, of course he wanted to punch his own past self in the face for how he was behaving. He’d wanted do the last one for a while now, even before meeting him in person.

Martin gave him a tentative smile, nothing at all like the open and affectionate one Jon was used to, and turned away to put the files safely on his desk.

They left in a group, and Jon didn’t think he was imagining the way they stuck closer to each other than necessary, casting nervous glances at the shadows they passed. The Archives were quiet with them gone.

There were tins of soup in the breakroom in case someone forgot to bring lunch. He heated one, made some tea, took a turn around the main stacks until a statement called out to him. He hadn’t passed on that little tidbit of information about himself; they’d find out soon enough about his strange feeding habits.

Then he turned in early, settling down in the mess of blankets that was the cot in old document storage, where the sheets did not smell like Martin because he had never slept there, where there was no familiar divot in the mattress where he would lay, where it was utterly silent without the sound of his gentle breathing, and cried himself to sleep.


	3. Me, Myself, and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early to Mid Dec 2015

Martin set the mug of tea down gently on Jon’s desk. The Head Archivist barely glanced up from his computer.

“Jon?”

A noise of acknowledgement.

“I made tea.”

Another affirmative noise, a pause, a delayed “Thanks.” He still didn’t look up. Martin sighed, and turned for the door. It was stupid, really, to keep striving for Jon’s attention. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. Sure, Jon was attractive. Yes, Martin would really like to kiss him. But he didn’t honestly think they’d be compatible as a couple, and besides, Jon was his boss. Martin wasn’t the sort to cause _that_ kind of office drama.

Misplaced need for appreciation from an authority figure, then? That seemed more likely, much as Martin hated to admit it. He hadn’t exactly had the healthiest childhood, emotionally speaking.

And yet… that explained why it hurt when Jon ignored him, why he felt a little pang of disappointment at every overlooked gesture of comfort or care. It didn’t explain the spike of anger and the determination to _get him to notice next time, the bastard._ That was pure, 100% natural stubbornness. The day Jon actually started to appreciate Martin’s efforts would be the day Martin won, and he was looking forward to it immensely. It was only a matter of time.

Spite, then. He was striving for Jon’s attention out of spite, because god damn it there wasn’t a person Martin had met yet that he hadn’t been able to charm, and Jonathan _fucking_ Sims was not going to be the exception.

Also, he really wanted to kiss him. And he may have been lying to himself about the whole ‘not thinking they were compatible’ thing.

But mostly spite.

“Tea’s up!” He stuck his head through the door of the assistants’ office on his way back to the breakroom. “I’m not carrying four mugs back on my own so you’d better come get it yourself.”

“Grab mine while you’re up.” Tim grumbled before moving off to heed Sasha’s request, brushing past Martin in the doorway. Martin hung back a moment to talk to Sims.

“I wasn’t sure how you took yours, so I just did it like Jon’s. He’s never seemed to care much one way or the other how it tastes though, so…”

Sims smiled at him, and Martin’s heart did that same lurching thing it had been doing since yesterday. Sims might be scarred and aged, but his smile was still Jon’s, and Jon’s smile was _breathtaking._ Not that Martin had ever had much opportunity to see it. Not until yesterday.

“I never commented on it, no. But I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a better tea than the one you make, Martin.” His voice was quiet and sincere.

"Even back- now?"

"From the first time you made it."

Martin felt his face flush. “Oh, uh. Th-thanks. It’s, uh, it’s ready in the breakroom.”

“I’ll be in soon.”

Martin beat a hasty retreat, passing Tim in the door of the breakroom. Tim raised an eyebrow.

“Alright there, Martin? You look like you swallowed hot coals.”

The blush, if anything, got stronger. “Fine, it’s just- it’s _him._ It’s just weird, you know? He’s Jon, but he’s… _nice._ He just told me I make the best tea he’s ever had.”

“You do make pretty good tea.” Tim grinned. “Jon’s gonna be fucking pissed when he realizes how cool his future self is.”

Sims had spent the entire morning with them in the assistants’ office while Jon remained locked in his own. He’d dragged a spare desk and chair in from storage, “requisitioned” (which Tim insisted meant stolen) a computer from the library, and flung himself into his own research alongside the team, stopping to explain what he was doing when they had questions and lending them aide with their own work if they asked. He’d also been very interested in generalized “getting to know you” type questions, as he said he hadn’t had much time to really learn about them before the end – except for Martin, of course. It was strange to be known so well by someone he barely knew anything about in return.

Regardless, Sims was, as Tim had said, _cool._ Not in a badass, movie star, handsome and suave kind of way, just… cool. Nice. Open. Friendly. He told good stories, and listened with interest when any of the others were talking.

It was, quite frankly, off-putting.

“It doesn’t weird you out at all, how different they are?”

Tim shrugged. “But they’re not, not really. Sims is just… Jon, but with his guard down, you know? They’re both bookish and obsessive, it’s just one of them _actually_ knows how to get along with people as well.”

“I don’t know…” Martin bit his lip. “It’s weirding me out.”

“I’d be weirded out too if my crush suddenly sprouted a doppelganger, but that’s not exactly his fault, is it?”

“Tim!” The blush, which had faded, was back. “I don’t- Jon’s not-”

Tim laughed. “No accounting for taste, honestly. Look, I gotta get this tea to Sasha. Good luck with your little freak out.”

Sims passed Tim heading down the hallway, and Martin hurried through the doorway to give himself a moment to calm down before he was seen. Deep breath, sip of tea… good. He smiled when Sims came into the room, gave him a polite nod, and got the heck out of there.

~~~~~

Jon was sulking.

Well, no, not sulking. He was a grown-ass adult, he didn’t _sulk._ He… fumed. Silently. Alone in his office where no one would bother him and stop him fuming before he was ready.

He didn’t _understand._ Sims had waltzed into the Archives like he owned the place, openly admitted to being a _murderer_ \- or at least a wannabe murderer, it remained to be seen if he’d _actually_ killed anyone - and the others had gone and decided they were okay with that! They _liked_ him! Just because he was taking the time to get to know them! For all they knew, it could be a con job.

So Jon was sulk- _fuming._

The knock at the door didn’t improve his mood.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Just passing along some case files from the Archives.” Sims stepped into the room, smiling. “I’ve vetted these already. You shouldn’t run into any danger investigating them, so feel free to move them to the top of your queue for processing. And I believe you have a stack of… shall we say, _odd_ statements that I can take off your hands?”

Jon glared at the proffered stack of paper. “I believe it’s _my_ job to decide what order statements get processed in.”

“Well, yes.” Sims shrugged. He was still smiling, a slight quirk of his lips that Jon found utterly detestable. “But I figured I’d save you some time. I don’t have to go through the whole ‘trying to record it on a laptop’ rigamarole to figure out which statements actually have some substance behind them. Makes things a lot easier.” He set the papers on the desk, and flicked a finger at a folder sitting in the corner. “If I recall correctly, _that’s_ the problem file. Mind if I just take it?”

Jon bit back a spiteful _yes_ and nodded stiffly. Sims shot him another smile.

“Thanks. Oh, and by the way,” he stopped halfway to the door. “It’s probably best not to spend the _entire_ day sulking in your office. Speaking from experience, it’s rather hard to get to know people that way.” And then he was gone, shutting the door quietly behind.

Jon resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at the closing door. He wasn’t _sulking._

~~~~~

“Can you really make people tell you things just by asking?”

Sims glanced up from his desk. Over the last few days it had accumulated a startling amount of clutter: towering stacks of paper vied for space with tape recorders of all shapes and sizes, dull pencils and half-empty pens crammed into whatever surface area was left. The only clear space remaining was a small circle around the computer, just big enough for one notebook and a mug of tea. It was worse than Jon’s, which should have been impossible because Jon’s desk drew clutter like flies to honey.

“Sorry?” Sims said, blinking.

“Can you really - I, I mean I think you called it compelling? Can you really… _compel_ people to tell you anything you want?” Martin felt himself flush along with the stutter. He always got nervous talking to Sims. He was _easy_ to talk to, _understanding, kind…_ really _really_ cute, an older, calmer, more relaxed version of Jon. He was still wearing the baggy sweater he’d first shown up in, frayed and hanging loose off one shoulder, and Martin was beginning to lose track of how much of his attraction was down to this man’s resemblance to Jon, and how much was just _him._

“Yes, though I try not to. It’s not exactly something most people are comfortable with. Kind of kills the conversation.” He chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening with the smile, and Martin had to consciously stop himself from staring.

“Show us!” Tim had been listening in from across the room; now he wheeled his chair out from behind his desk, rolling himself across the room toward them. Sims blinked at him, startled.

“Oh, I- I don’t think you really- I mean, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“You won’t, come on.” Tim waggled his eyebrows. “Show us the spooky stuff.”

“It’s not-” Sims huffed, and Martin was forcefully reminded of Jon’s reaction when he’d first heard Tim use the word. Tim had taken to calling as many things as possible _spooky_ after that. “I appreciate your curiosity, but I think you’re forgetting that my ‘spooky stuff’ is, quite literally, evil?”

Tim shrugged. “Nah, I remember what you said. But you’ve really got truth serum at your fingertips and you’re telling me you won’t even use it for fun?”

“Come on, Tim, if he doesn’t want to do it don’t push him.” Sasha finally spoke up, glancing up from her computer to frown at him. “For all you know it’s painful or something.”

“No, it’s-” Sims took a deep breath. “I’ve just never really had anyone ask me to compel them, before. Well, except for-” His gaze flicked to Martin for a second, and Martin found himself wondering what would have caused a future him to ask that of this future Jon. What scenario would have made him _comfortable_ asking such a thing. “But that was a very unique set of circumstances.”

“So if we ask you very nicely now, you’ll do it?” Tim’s smile was sickeningly sweet; he widened his eyes and batted his lashes. “Pretty please?”

Sims snorted. “What exactly do you expect me to ask? Keeping in mind that compelling people generally works best when it’s a question they wouldn’t normally answer.”

“Ask Martin what the most embarrassing thing he’s done was!” The reply was quick-fire enough that it must have been planned; Martin shot Tim a glare.

“Ask _Tim_ what the most embarrassing thing he’s done was!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“You started it!”

“Ask them both!” Sasha chimed in, leaning back in her chair and watching the showdown with glee.

“Hold on, hold on!” Sims raised his hands. “I’m not asking anything unless the _person I’m asking_ tells me it’s okay!”

“Spoilsport.”

Sims rolled his eyes at Tim and opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the office door opening. Jon poked his head around the frame. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“Martin started it!”

“Tim!”

“They’re just asking me about my abilities.” Once again, Sims was the voice of calm. “They’re debating what question I should ask to compel an answer out of one of them.”

“Oh.” Jon glanced at each member of the room in turn, then very deliberately pushed the door open farther and stepped into the room. “I’d like to stay and watch, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Sims smiled at Jon. “I’m sure you want to see what sort of fate you’re avoiding by not becoming me.” He was calm and composed where he sat, legs curled under him on the seat and shoulders relaxed. Scarred and weathered, long messy hair and battered old clothes. Jon stood stiffly, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his leg. Unscarred, short hair: still with flecks of grey, and disheveled where he would run a hand through it in frustration, but neat. Professional. They looked like entirely different people, except for the fact that they were exactly the same.

“So what question _are_ you asking, then?” Sasha said.

“That is up to whoever volunteers to have me ask them.”

Silence. For all his earlier enthusiasm, Tim shifted nervously, not meeting Sims’ eyes. Sasha grinned placidly at his discomfort. Jon watched Sims, eyes narrowed, arms folded across his chest.

Martin cleared his throat. “You can ask me.” They all turned to look at him in unison, and he felt himself flush. “Well, no one else was volunteering!”

“What do you want me to ask you?” Sims’ voice took on that gentle tone he seemed to use around Martin a lot.

“I, I don’t know, I mean…” Martin floundered for something that wouldn’t be horribly embarrassing. “You could ask me about my hobbies, I guess? Out- outside of work. It’s not exactly something I’d talk about willingly, so...”

Sims nodded. “Alright, then. Though I think I already know your answer.” He sat up straighter, rolling his shoulder back and taking a deep breath before looking Martin right in the eye. _“What are your hobbies, Martin?”_

His voice took on a strange resonance when he spoke, that time. Martin felt it vibrating in his chest, a deep note that shook through him and stole the breath from his lungs. With the breath came words, rising up through him and spilling from his lips before he even had a chance to think about what he was saying.

“I knit, sometimes, though I haven’t had anything on the needles in a while. I did a bit of photography when I was a teenager but I don’t have much time to head out with a camera anymore. _Mainly,_ though, I write poetry. I draw a lot of inspiration from Keats, and I’ve actually been considering recording some on one of the old tape recorders Jon dug up in storage, I really like the old low-fi quality of the sound. Mostly I write about things happening in my own life, work and friends and what it’s like to live alone in London…” Martin trailed off, raising a hand to his mouth in shock. Sims was smiling at him, but he could hear Tim sniggering and he didn’t even want to _think_ about how Jon might react.

Sasha spoke first. “What do you knit?”

“Sorry?”

“Knitting. I made a hat last winter. I’m looking for new patterns.”

“Oh!” Martin felt a wave of relief wash through him. _Knitting,_ at least, was somewhat less embarrassing than poetry. “I, uh, I made some mittens a few years back? They took _ages._ I’ll bring them in tomorrow if you’re interested.”

“That would be great!”

“So you weren’t kidding, then?” Tim had stopped laughing; now he was looking at Sims with a mix of wariness and awe. “You really can make people tell you anything?”

“For the most part, yes. Would you like me to demonstrate on you?”

“Thanks anyway, but I think I’m alright.” He turned to Martin. “What was it like?”

“Um.” Martin felt himself flushing again. “Kind of… freeing? Like, I wouldn’t have said that much about it normally, but I don’t mind you knowing and… It was like I was just running on automatic, like I was aware of the fact that I was talking but I wasn’t consciously controlling what I was saying? A bit like in a dream, where you’re just doing things and you don’t know why?”

“Huh.” Tim gave an exaggerated shudder. “Sounds awful.”

“Like I said, Tim: literally evil.” Sims spread his hands, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not meant to be pleasant.”

“I didn’t mind it.” Martin regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but Tim just shrugged, and Sims gave him that small, soft smile again. Martin smiled back.

“Well, if that’s _all,_ then I suggest we all get back to work.”

Martin jumped. He’d nearly forgotten Jon was standing behind him. Sims gave a small wave as Jon turned to leave the room, which was ignored. Jon’s shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. He seemed upset about something, but Martin didn’t dare follow him to ask what as the door was shut firmly behind him.

“Eh, the bossman’s right.” Tim slouched back over to his desk, patting Martin on the shoulder as he went. Martin made to walk to his own, but was stopped by Sims leaning forward again.

“I’ve read some of your poetry, Martin.” He spoke quietly enough that Tim and Sasha wouldn’t hear. “I don’t know if it was anything you’ve written yet, but it was good.”

“Oh.” Martin was flushing again. “Th- thank you.”

Sims just smiled, and turned back to continue whatever he had been typing on his computer before Martin interrupted him.

~~~~~

A week and a half in, and Jon felt that he’d fumed long enough. He couldn’t avoid his future self forever; the few times they’d been in the same room together had been off-putting and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t going to get better if he just avoided the problem.

Besides, there was some fierce and hot emotion that flared up in his chest every time he saw Sims talking with one of the others that made him want to charge in and insert himself into the conversation even if he had no place there. He was having a hard time ignoring the fact that it was quite obviously jealousy.

It was strange: he’d never really considered himself the sort to socialize much, or make friends easily. And, truly, he didn’t even think the others _were_ his friends. He was their boss, technically, and that made it… awkward. But watching Sims joke around with them, calm and confident and _included…_ it made him want to be their friend. It made him realize he was very alone in life, and he needed companionship.

Or something.

Jon pursed his lips, hesitating outside the door to the break room. Maybe he just hated Sims, and he was confusing that hatred and anger for jealousy and loneliness.

Still, he’d committed himself to taking a lunch break today, and now that he was here he might as well go through with it. He pushed the door open, stepping into the room to find Sims and Martin seated at the small table laughing. That same heat blazed in his chest, and maybe he just needed to find friends outside of work because he really did not want to face eating his lunch quietly while these two chatted next to him. He’d been hoping Tim and Sasha would be here.

Sims looked up with a smile when he walked in. “Well, this is a surprise! I don’t think I ever took a genuine lunch break until… christ, it must have been after Prentiss when Martin noticed I wasn’t eating.”

“You what?” Martin gave him a horrified look, which Sims waved off. Jon stalked over to the kettle, quietly making himself a cup of tea while the other two ignored him.

“I ate in my office, it was fine. Besides, I’m past that now. You’re - you were - are.” Sims stopped, and muttered quietly, “I hate time travel.” Then he rallied. “My Martin was a good influence. _Is,_ will be. When he gets here.”

Jon slid into a chair on the other side of the table, unscrewing the lid of his thermos and waving away the cloud of steam rising from the soup within. Martin gave him a small, hesitant smile, and the thought flashed through his head that if Sims had a Martin of his own, that this must be _Jon’s_ Martin. He shook it away, dropping his gaze to his soup. Lonely or not, it was no good to start getting possessive over his assistants. Martin could make his own choices who he spent time with.

“Anyway, you were talking about the yarn shop you and Sasha went to last weekend?”

“Oh, yeah!” Martin launched back into his narrative, a rambling tale of overly-attentive proprietors and helpful old ladies convinced they knew all there was to know about knitting. Sims was an active listener, tossing in comments and questions when appropriate and letting Martin monologue when he got on a roll. Jon watched them, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching, and ate his lunch in silence.

Sims finished eating first; he stood, stretching, and carried his dishes to the sink.

“I should get back to work.” He paused halfway to the door, and said in a tone so casual that Jon almost believed it was natural, “Oh, by the way Martin, did you tell Jon about the highland yarn? I think he’d find it interesting.” Then he was gone.

Jon glanced at Martin. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his future self prodding him into conversation with his assistant, but he had to admit he felt himself relax, just a little, when Martin looked over and met his eyes.

“So,” he said, taking a sip of tea, “highland yarn?”

Martin’s face brightened, and something in Jon warmed in return. Strange, that he should have that reaction to _Martin,_ of all people. But he couldn’t deny that he was much happier now that Martin was talking to _him,_ and Sims was gone.

They spent the rest of the lunch break talking about cows, which was not what Jon had expected. But apparently highland cows’ fur could be spun into yarn, and it was very soft and warm, and Martin had been hoping to get his hands on some for a scarf for quite some time; and one thing led to another, and before Jon knew it they were walking back to their respective offices laughing at pictures of highland cows on Martin’s phone.

Jon was still smiling when he sat back down behind his desk. He’d have to take lunch breaks more often.

~~~~~

Martin scratched absently at his nose. He was alone in the office at the moment. Tim and Sasha had made an impromptu excursion to the Library upstairs, and Sims was off hunting down some monster or other. At least, Martin assumed that’s what he was doing, but with the way Sims approached most tasks, he may as well have just been running out to grab an afternoon snack.

Either way, Martin was in the office alone, and he was thinking about monsters, and he really hoped Jon would come and bother him about a statement follow-up or something soon because he was getting jumpy. 

The whole “monsters are real” thing wasn’t bothering him _that_ much, truth be told; he’d learned to believe in the supernatural soon after joining the Institute. Still, it was one thing to believe, and quite another to have an armed and dangerous future version of your boss and current crush look you in the eye and swear to protect you from the worm monster that had given him his scars. For the most part, Martin was fine, but when he was alone in the Institute, and it was quiet, and he started getting that creeping feeling that someone was watching him...

There was a short shriek from Jon's office and Martin jumped up, heart pounding. He was across the hallway before he even registered he was running, and he threw open the door of the office without hesitation. Inside, Jon was...

...sitting on his chair with his knees pulled up to his chin, eyes fixed on a small spider crawling across his desk.

"Martin!" There was obvious relief in his voice. "Kill it!"

"What?" Martin stopped in bafflement, heart still racing. He had expected some sort of murder attempt or supernatural horrors, not... a spider.

"Kill it!" Jon insisted. He curled farther in his chair, which was already a good two feet away from the desk. He must have pushed it away when he saw the spider.

"I'm not going to kill it, Jon. It's harmless."

“No it’s not!”

Martin put his hands on his hips, fixing Jon with an exasperated look. “Really? What’s it going to do, then? Jump on you?”

“Something! I don’t know!” Jon's hands were actually shaking. "You heard what he said about the Web!"

"Jon. Look at it." Martin gestured at the spider. It had paused at the base of Jon's keyboard, waving a few legs in the air as it decided whether or not to climb. "Does that _really_ look like a manifestation of an evil fear entity to you?"

"Yes!"

Jon said it with enough certainty to give Martin pause. He took a cautious step forward, looking closer at the spider for some sign of malice or evil intent…

It got a few legs up on the side of the keyboard, slipped, and fell back to the desk. Martin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Look, Jon, I _really_ don’t think this spider’s evil.”

“You never know.” Jon’s eyes still hadn’t left the spider. He seemed genuinely terrified. “There’s no way to ever know.”

Martin took a moment to just watch Jon. His hands were still shaking, face ashen, limbs a tight bundle as he cowered in his chair. He’d never been a fan of spiders, of course, and Martin had seen him smash many an intruder that dared to crawl across his desk while he was working… he’d never shied away from them, though. Always fight, never freeze or flee.

But… Martin had talked with Sasha, soon after Sims showed up and declared two of them had encountered the supernatural before. He certainly hadn’t, and she hadn’t, either. Which left Jon and Tim. And Jon had been _very_ interested in Sims’ description of the Web. And there had been that thing he said, when he first woke up, that convinced Jon he was telling the truth…

Martin felt a sudden rush of guilt for laughing at Jon’s reaction. He switched tones rapidly, putting on his most reassuring voice and moving carefully toward the spider on the desk.

“I’m not going to kill it. But I’ll move it outside for you.” He upended Jon’s pen holder, grabbing a sheet of scrap paper to cover the opening, and cupped it over the spider, trapping it neatly inside. Jon remained frozen for a moment, eyes locked on Martin’s hands, and then lurched out of his chair toward Martin, stopping just short of grabbing his arms.

“Wait! What if it hurts you?”

Martin very carefully avoided noticing how close Jon was to him, despite the desk between them, and how his own heart jumped at the thought of Jon caring about his wellbeing. He also very deliberately did not let his gaze drop down to Jon’s lips, no matter how far toward him Jon leaned over the desk. He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Jon’s face and sliding the piece of paper under the pen holder.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. See?” He lifted the makeshift trap, taking a step backward so he wasn’t waving it in Jon’s face. “Safe and secure, and I’m only taking it out to the front steps, anyway.”

Jon swallowed convulsively. “I’ll come with you.”

“What?” Martin blinked.

“I’ll come with you. That way, if something happens…” He didn’t finish the sentence, just stalked over to the door and held it open. “Come on.”

Jon held the doors open for him all the way to the front entrance, and Martin had to admit it was nice to not have to fumble with them while also trying to keep the spider trapped. They walked back to the Archives together once it was disposed of, and Martin helped Jon gather the pens strewn across his desk. Jon gave him a wan smile as he turned to leave, and his _“Thank you,”_ while soft, was one of the most genuine Martin had heard from him yet.

“Everything alright?” Sims was in the door of the assistants’ office, returned from whatever errand he had been running and giving him a worried look. Martin shook himself, trying to banish the giddy smile that was creeping over his face. It was just a thank you, for god’s sake, there was no need for him to feel so warm and fuzzy over it.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine. Just moving a spider outside.”

Sims frowned. “All that was over a spider?”

Martin shrugged. “Yeah. He’s never liked them…” He flushed, realizing what he’d said. “O- of course you already know that.”

“I do.” Sims smiled. “But I was never this bad, so if you’ll excuse me…” Martin stepped aside as Sims headed for Jon’s office. “I think I need to do some damage control before he gets any worse.”


	4. Only the Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid Dec 2015 to Jan 13, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone [Haberdasher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher) wrote a one-shot in this au set between chapters 2 and 3! It's amazing and you should all go read it after you finish this chapter. (It's linked at the end of the story under 'works inspired by this one.’)
> 
> Chapter title is from [Only the Lonely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjq4wYuwgxs) by Roy Orbison, and no, I don’t generally listen to this style of music, but my boss does and the playlist is _unavoidable_ at work.

Jon was miserable.

Well, no. He was having a grand time getting to know Tim and Sasha, making up for all the little slights he’d given Martin back when this was his present instead of his past, and playing matchmaker for his younger self to try to get him to fall for Martin. All of that was good. Great, even.

But he missed  _ his  _ Martin, and he was miserable for it.

Young Martin was… wonderful. A fantastic person, a great friend, and yes, Jon loved him by default. But he wasn’t  _ Jon’s  _ Martin - or he was, just a different Jon’s. Because he was a different Martin.

It was confusing, looking at a face so nearly that of his husband’s and not feeling that little lurch in his chest. He loved this Martin, but he wasn’t  _ in  _ love with him. He never would be, because there was another Martin who held his whole heart. 

Very confusing indeed, and Jon wished Martin were with him, because the world always made more sense when Martin was with him.

He paused, blinking in consternation. He’d been wandering at random through the Archives, and his feet had led him to an unoccupied office in a disused section of the basement. It was one of the ones they had used - did, currently, use - to store large furniture that they didn’t need in the main rooms, and there was a light on inside. It was Tim and Sasha, and the office was their regular hideout when they needed a break from work and didn’t want anyone bothering them.

Jon ran that last thought over again in his mind. No, it definitely wasn’t something he’d know ten seconds prior. Hell of a lot less embarrassing than some of the knowledge the Eye chose to airdrop on him, though, so he wasn’t going to complain.

Sasha was talking; he moved closer so he could hear.

"...Martin definitely does, but I'm starting to think even Jon-"

Jon cleared his throat to announce his presence, not wanting to eavesdrop for too long. They both spun around, Sasha the picture of innocence and Tim with a guilty expression.

"Hey, Jon, we were just-" Then he saw who it was, and relaxed. "Oh, Sims. Hi. We were just talking about Jon."

"Martin too, it sounded like. What's up?" He approached the few steps necessary to join them in the room, leaning back against one of the filing cabinets, and they exchanged a conspiratorial glance before Sasha turned to him.

"Maybe you can confirm our theory. We've been watching those two, and we're pretty sure Martin has a crush on Jon."

Something twisted in Jon's chest, and- and that was  _ not  _ the reaction he would have expected. God, he missed Martin so much.

"Uh, yes. Yes, by my Martin's own admission, he did.  _ Does, _ even back now."

"Right." Tim nodded, leaning in a bit. "But what we're starting to suspect is that it's not quite as one-sided as he might think."

"Oh." Wasn't it? This was still early days; he hadn't... "I, I mean. I don't know.  _ I _ certainly didn't start to- to feel that way until after Prentiss's attack. And I didn't put a name to it until... well, it was a while. But..." Jon paused, thinking back on the interactions he had seen between the two. The other Jon  _ had  _ seemed rather more receptive to his matchmaking attempts than he had expected. "I will admit I've seen certain...  _ signs  _ that you might be right. Our histories may have diverged on this point, as well."

"I take it you're in favor of the match?" Sasha's eyes twinkled. 

Jon raised an eyebrow at her. "Am I in favor of my past self forming a relationship with my husband's past self? Yes, I would have to say I am."

"Ha!" Tim pumped his fist in triumph. "Knew it! You're Sims-Blackwood, then?"

"Blackwood-Sims, actually." Jon's mouth quirked in a smile. "Though I suppose  _ they  _ could be Sims-Blackwood to avoid confusion.”

Sasha frowned. "Wait. Do... do  _ they  _ know who your husband is, or...?"

"Honestly?" Jon blew out a breath. "I don't think so. I haven't exactly been trying to  _ hide  _ it, but... they're pretty oblivious. Jon might suspect, but Martin..."

"Bets on how long you think it'll take 'em."

Sasha raised her chin, giving Tim a challenging look. "You're on."

Jon snorted. “I’ll pass on that, if you don’t mind.”

“Kinda figured. Okay, Sash, ten pounds says Jon works it out by Christmas but it takes Martin till February.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Martin’ll figure it out by New Year's. Jon won’t know till March.”

“Oh, ho! Going for the long shot, are you?”

“In your dreams.”

Jon watched them, forcing himself to maintain an amused smile.  _ They’ll figure it out when  _ my  _ Martin gets back.  _ He couldn’t even begin to entertain the thought that that would be as far in the future as March. He steadfastly ignored the small voice whispering that it had already been over two weeks, and might be never.

Martin  _ would  _ be back. Jon just had to wait for him.

~~~~~

The Monday before Christmas, he was helping Martin and Sasha re-affix the garland that hung over the office door while Tim looked on with a mug of hot chocolate and a smug grin.

“Higher on your side, Martin, it’s drooping.”

Martin huffed. “Maybe it you’d get over here and  _ help…” _

“Nah, I’m good.” Tim held up his mug in a toast. “You’ve got this.”

Jon leaned over to staple Martin’s end to the wall, wobbling on the ladder. “I don’t think I noticed that you guys decorated the office the first time around. This seems like a lot more work than it’s worth.” Two satisfying  _ thunks,  _ and the staples sank into the wall, holding the garland in place. He leaned over to do Sasha’s side.

“Come on, Sims, it’s festive! This place needs some brightening up anyway.” She moved her hand out of the way, and with two more  _ thunks,  _ it was done. “Speaking of festive, do you guys have any plans? I’m heading out to visit family the day after, but since we’re celebrating on the weekend this year I’m free day-of.”

Jon climbed down the ladder, frowning slightly. If he remembered correctly, he’d spent Christmas 2015 locked in his flat working from home. He didn’t know what Tim and Sasha had done the first time around, but Martin had told him, on  _ their _ first Christmas together, that he’d spent the weekend watching old movies and feeling sorry for himself. There certainly hadn’t been an Archival party, so Jon’s presence in the past was already having a serious effect on the course of events. Though - and the frown turned to a smile - it seemed to be a positive one.

“I’m certainly free, if you don’t mind a non-assistant tagging along.”

“The more the merrier!” Tim took another swig of cocoa. “And I’m definitely free,  _ all  _ weekend. I’m Jewish, so…”

“Oh, really?” Martin smiled ruefully. “Sorry for all the Christmas crap, then.”

“Nah, I’m used to it.” Tim waved off the comment. “Trust me, you’re tame in comparison to a lot of people. You free Christmas?”

“Yep. And the whole weekend actually, though I’m not sure I want to spend the entire time celebrating.”

“Yeah, no offence, but I could use a couple days off from you lot. Who’s got a good place to host?”

Both Tim and Sasha raised their hands. Jon shrugged. “Unless you feel like spending a holiday in the Archives, I’m out.”

“My flat’s kind of small.” Martin grimaced.

Tim dug around in a desk draw, then held out a coin to Sasha. “Toss you for it?”

Tim won, so Sasha got stuck with hosting duties. She shrugged. “It was my idea in the first place, it’s probably fair. You guys want to come over around one o’clock, stay through dinner? I’m going to have to kick you out early, I’ll need to get ready for Saturday.”

They all nodded. Then Martin bit his lip, glancing through the open door to the Head Archivist’s office across the hall. 

“Should we, um. Should we invite Jon?”

Tim and Sasha both hesitated, glancing at Jon, and- okay, well, that hurt a little, he had to admit, even though he kind of deserved it. He hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant person to be around - his younger self, currently, was  _ not  _ the most pleasant person to be around - but it still kind of hurt to think they wouldn’t have wanted to invite him. He spread his hands, distancing himself from the decision.

“I won’t take offence if you don’t invite him. All I’ll say is that he probably won’t be too bad, he’ll just sit in a corner the whole time and not talk much.”

“Would he even want to come?” Sasha asked.

Jon took a moment to consider it. “Probably? My current perspective might be biasing this a little, but… yes. He’ll pretend he doesn’t, make you think he isn’t going to, and then show up twenty minutes late looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. But he’ll want to be included.”

Martin snorted, and Jon glanced at him. He looked amused, but it was that special kind of amused look that Jon knew was hiding a fond smile.

“That settles it, then, we’ll invite him. But Martin’s the one asking.”

“What?” Martin gave Tim a frankly panicked look. “Why me?”

“Because you’ve got the best chance of actually convincing him.” Sasha nudged Martin past the ladder and out the door. “Go on, go talk to him. Remember, Sims says he’ll actually want to come.”

Martin went.

He returned a few minutes later, ears slightly pink.

“He, uh, he says he’ll think about it.”

“That’s it?” Tim looked flabbergasted.

“That’s it.”

“He’ll think about it.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Unbelievable.”

~~~~~

Jon, the Head Archivist, did indeed turn up twenty minutes late, looking like he wished he were anywhere else.

Jon, the Archivist, met him at the door of Sasha’s flat before anyone else could intervene.

“Stop frowning.”

“What?” Jon found he had a rather intimidating glare, though the effect was rather spoiled the nervous twitching of his fingers.

“Stop frowning, or they’ll uninvite you next time they do something like this. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

Young Jon frowned harder. “They’re not  _ obligated  _ to invite me to anything.”

“Exactly. And they’re going to stop unless you actually show them you appreciate it.”

All that got was a cool and level stare. “So can I come in, or are you just going to stand here blocking the door all day?”

Jon moved aside, letting him through. He’d tried, at least. It wasn’t on him if his younger self chose to isolate himself.  _ He’d  _ already been through the personal growth necessary to recognize he needed people; he wasn’t going to ruin the day trying prod someone else to the same realization.

It was nice. Tim and Martin had collaborated to buy ingredients for dinner, and although Sasha’s kitchen was ridiculously cramped with all five of them crammed inside, they managed to cook something tangentially resembling food. As predicted, the younger Jon spent most of the afternoon not talking, and when he did it was in short, clipped sentences, but if Jon were any judge at all he’d say inviting him had been a good move. If nothing else it gave him the opportunity to watch Martin get a faceful of flour when he dropped the bag, and Jon couldn’t imagine anyone seeing Martin Blackwood with a faceful of flour, laughing and trying to claw it out of his hair, and not loving him.

Jon found himself growing quiet as the afternoon wore on as well, though for a rather different reason. This was… it was everything he and Martin had always reminisced about. What they _ could have had,  _ if Jon hadn’t been so focused on work and Prentiss had never attacked. And here it was, by  _ December,  _ their  _ first  _ December in the Archives. And Martin wasn’t here.

He’d almost prefer-

No. He’d  _ definitely  _ prefer to be back in Scotland, listening to the screams and howling winds outside, huddled under a blanket as Martin whispered to him all the romantic things he’d always wanted to do if he had a relationship over the holiday. Martin had laughed when Jon pointed out that mistletoe was technically a parasite, and therefore might magically appear if the Corruption attacked. Then he had kissed him, soft and slow, and murmured that they didn’t need mistletoe, anyway.

Martin laughed at one of Tim’s jokes, and Jon jolted back to the present. His younger self was watching Martin with an odd expression, and Jon’s heart lurched again. He wanted to go over there and shake him, tell him to  _ hold on while you still can… _

He took a sip of tea - brewed by Martin, at everyone’s insistence - and pretended to laugh along.

Sasha kicked them out shortly after seven, with a heartfelt thanks for helping with the clean-up and an insistent,  _ “But I still need to pack.” _

Tim held back, chatting with Sasha for a bit longer as both Jons and Martin pulled on their coats. Martin stood close to the younger Jon, hesitating a moment before speaking.

“I’m headed to the station. Do you want to walk together?”

“No, thank you.” He tugged a hat down over his ears, gave a small nod. “I’ll see you Monday.”

He was out the door before Martin could speak, leaving him standing open-mouthed and blinking in shock. Jon snorted.

“Don’t take it too hard. I-  _ we  _ walk fast, I honestly don’t think that was intended as a slight.”

Martin turned to him, frowning. “What does walking speed have to do with it?”

Jon shrugged. “I never want to feel like I’m hurrying someone along faster than they’re comfortable, and slowing down to someone else’s pace can get annoying. In all likelihood he thinks he’s doing you both a favor by going alone.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll walk with you, if you want.”

“Really?” Martin turned to Jon, eyes lighting in surprise. “But- didn’t you say it’s annoying?”

“Sometimes.” Jon wrapped his scarf around his neck, hiding his smile behind the material. “Not when you’ve got good company.”

Martin’s cheeks turned pink. “Sh- should we wait for Tim?”

“Don’t wait for me.” Tim poked his head around the kitchen door. “And no, we  _ definitely  _ weren’t evesdropping, why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“Oi, don’t bring  _ me  _ into this!” Sasha appeared around the door as well. “Bye Martin. Bye Sims. Happy Christmas!”

“You too!”

They waved; left. Jon saw Tim and Sasha exchange a look as the door closed, and he could only guess at what new bets were being made once they’d left.

They were quiet as they walked. It was a chilly evening, and Jon let out a puff of breath, watching it fog and fade away. It brought back memories, not all of them pleasant. He wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering slightly. Next to him, Martin sighed.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

"Sorry?" Jon dragged himself, once more, to the present.

"Why are you so nice to me?” Martin repeated. He was looking at Jon out of the corner of his eye, not quite managing to meet his gaze.

"I've got a lot to make up for.” Jon shrugged, gesturing at the empty street ahead of them where the other Jon had passed mere minutes before. “Don't forget, I used to be him."

"Yeah, I know that, but..." Martin shifted nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean, you've changed a lot? So surely I - the me you know - has changed a lot as well? You- you act like you know me, but I'm not... him."

"Well, that's true. The Martin I know is a lot harder, in some ways. A lot softer, in others." Jon chuckled slightly. "A lot more likely to break a door down with a fire axe, if he thinks it'll help the situation. But just because you're not him doesn't mean I don't like you, Martin. I've liked every version of you, I think." His lips quirked in a small smile. "Even when you drove me crazy."

“Oh.” Martin was blushing again. That was  _ not  _ something that had changed. Jon had always been able to make Martin blush, though as he grew more confident in their relationship the flush had become a sign of happiness, rather than embarrassment.  _ This  _ was clearly embarrassment: Martin’s eyes were wide with uncertainty, unsure how to react to such a genuine compliment. It made him look very young; Jon’s heart reached out to him, and a deep protective instinct flared in his core.

Not the same, though. Never the same as with his husband.

The feeling skewed, plunging back into sorrow, and Jon glanced away.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes. As they approached the station Martin took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He did that when he was trying to shake off a persistent train of thought; Jon waited to see what his new focus would be.

“Do you need me to cover your fare?”

Jon almost laughed. He had been expecting something far more serious. “No, thank you. I’m traveling courtesy of the Institute.” When Martin just gave him a confused look, he elaborated. “I secured a company credit card. How did you think I came by the jacket? I didn’t exactly go time traveling in full winter gear.”

“Oh.” Martin cast a look over his coat and scarf. “How, uh… how exactly did you ‘secure’ it?”

“Will you stop liking me if I say it was blatant threats?”

Martin was silent for a startled moment. Then: “No. I feel like that should bother me more, but… no.”

Jon smiled. “Thank you. And I promise I would never threaten someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“I know.” Martin glanced at him. His face bore a half-smile; his eyes were amused. “I think that’s why it doesn’t bother me. I… I trust you. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

The entered the station. “I suppose I’m not surprised. I may not be the Jon you know, but I used to be. And you trust him.”

“I do.” Martin’s voice went soft, and Jon glanced away again to hide a smile.

They bid each other goodbye soon after. Martin was headed home; Jon was going back to the Institute. Which, he supposed, was sort of like going home… but it didn’t feel like it without Martin by his-

Jon stopped in the middle of the thought. It didn’t feel like home without Martin by his side, even though Martin had been by his side mere moments before. It didn’t feel like home without… old Martin? That felt too close to an insult. Calling the other one “young Martin” seemed condescending. Past and future were just confusing, given that past was present to the rest of the world and future was  _ his  _ present. “My Martin” was the obvious clarification, but it didn’t feel right to have to add an addendum to his own husband’s name just because someone shared it. “Other Martin” strayed too close into the Stranger’s territory. And “Blackwood” would most likely be used for Martin Blackwood-Sims when he finally arrived, so there was no use trying to apply it to Martin Blackwood now.

Jon shook his head. He was falling down a rabbit hole.  _ He  _ knew which one he was referring to, and when Martin finally arrived they could sort it out together. He was rather looking forward to it.

~~~~~

New Year’s came and went with much less fanfare than Christmas, and the following week and a half passed with no incidents. Jon kept a careful eye on the calendar, and on the morning of January the 13th, 2016, he made sure he was dressed and ready to go, with two steaming mugs of tea, by the time the knock came on the Archive’s main door.

Tim answered it, and as Jon made his way back from the breakroom he could hear him talking to the visitor.

“...pointment with the Head Archivist? Really? He doesn’t usually have visitors.”

A woman’s voice responded, hesitant and unsure. “The- the receptionist said I should come down? Something about a special protocol for, um, new statements?”

“Tim, what’s going on here? I didn’t tell Rosie to send people down.” Jon winced as his own voice joined the conversation, accompanied by the creak of an office door and as little tact as ever. He hurried forward.

“I did.” He ignored the way the woman stared, gaze jumping between Jon and Jon, and smiled at her. “Naomi Herne, correct? I’ve been expecting you.”

“You’ve- what? Wait, who-”

“I’m the Archivist. I promise I’ll explain everything. Would you care to sit down?” He gestured her toward his office. 

The other Jon glared at him. “I have work to do.”

Jon blinked. Right. Not  _ his _ office. Still… “It can wait. Go talk to Martin, or something, this is more important.” And he ushered Naomi through the door, shutting it firmly behind them.

He gestured for her to take a seat, setting one of the mugs of tea down in front of her before sitting behind the desk himself.

“So. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“Y-yes.” She reached forward, taking the mug of tea, but didn’t drink. “Um, was that… was that your brother, or…?”

Jon laughed. “No. That was…” he took a breath. “Look, I know you’ve had a traumatic experience. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. So before I start, I want to tell you that it was all real.” He met her gaze, holding it, trying to convey his absolute sincerity. “All of it. I believe you.”

She gave a nervous chuckle. “I haven’t even told you why I’m here. I- I didn’t even tell you my  _ name.”  _ And there was that slight overtone of fear that Jon was so used to.

“Right. I just wanted to establish that there are things in this world beyond the normal scope of human comprehension. That I  _ know  _ there are, and that you know it, too.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a time traveler.”

There was a moment of silence; then she broke out into peels of laughter, tinged slightly with hysteria. “I- I’m sorry,  _ what?  _ Do you honestly expect me to believe that you’re-”

“Yes.” The laughter stopped instantly, and she tensed in the chair, looking on the verge of running. “The man out there, that you asked if he was my brother? That’s my past self. The- the  _ me,  _ from your timeline. I was him, once. I heard your story. And I know it’s true. Evan, the Lukases, Moorland House, the graveyard. All of it. I know you have a chunk of a headstone in your bag, and I know that the first time you showed it to me, I was so afraid that I practically laughed you out of the Archives. I’m sorry for that.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and tried to give her a reassuring smile. “If it’s any consolation, I’m trying to make things right, now. I can’t fix what happened with Evan, but I can give you some advice going forward.”

Naomi stared at him. Her eyes were damp, and she blinked back a few tears. “Let’s say I believe you,” she said, and her voice shook. “Why are you back?”

“To save the world.” She huffed, disbelieving. “I’m serious.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing at all. But I might as well fix everything I can, while I’m here.”

“You already said you couldn’t.”

Jon sighed. “I can’t fix  _ that.  _ I didn’t come back far enough, I’ve only been here since December. But… the first time you were here, you told me your story. And I sent you away, none the wiser about what had happened to you. I know what it was, now. I can explain, if you want me to.”

Naomi looked away, biting her lip. Jon waited, giving her the time to think. Then she nodded. “Okay. Tell me. What happened?”

So he told her, as much as he could. Explained the Lonely, and the Lukases, and how Evan must have tried to break away, and been killed for it. And then he went further, and told her about the Beholding, and the Archivist, and the nightmares, because she kept trying to elaborate on various parts of the story and he  _ really  _ didn’t want to accidentally take her statement again. He’d had years with her in his dreams, as was rather relieved to be free of it, here in the past.

When he finished, she took a moment to process it all. Then: “Am I safe?”

Jon tilted his head, considering. He’d given this some thought - Martin and he both had, back in the future, debating how to save all the innocent people they’d run into over their years in the Archives.

“I think so. The Lukases don’t have a particular vendetta against you - I don’t even think your experience was a result of them specifically targeting you, you just… got too close. You’ll be safe, Naomi. Just…” and he sighed. “Keep in touch with your friends? I know it’s hard, and I know you feel like - you  _ told  _ me it felt like they were Evan’s friends, not yours. But they care about you, too, and it’s likely they’re all feeling the same. You all lost someone you care about… you can’t let that stop you from holding on to the people you’ve got left.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Jon watched the sag in her shoulders, the exhaustion in the way she held herself, and he wished he could offer more.

“It’s just hard, you know?” Her voice was soft. “Evan was… everything to me. He-” She choked back a small sob, raising a hand to brush away the tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t know how to go on without him.” She took a deep breath, and when she met Jon’s eyes there was a mournful smile on her face. “I loved him so much.” Her breath hitched, and she covered her face with a hand. The other gripped the edge of the desk, white-knuckled against the wood. “I’m sorry, I must seem like such a mess right now.”

“It’s okay. I- I wish I could say I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but… I  _ do _ understand, Naomi.” His chest constricted, a tight pressure that made his next words come out choked and painful. “I've... I've lost someone, too." Jon reached out, covering her hand with his own. She stared at it, eyes lingering on the ring, and nodded.

It was a few more minutes before she declared herself ready to leave. Jon passed her a box of tissues, and they finished their tea, and neither of them talked overly much, too wrapped up in their own thoughts and memories.

When she finally stood, Naomi gave Jon a forced smile. “Thank you. For the information, and the advice. I- I think I will reach out, to a few of Evan’s… to a few of  _ my  _ friends. I think that would be good for me.”

“Good luck.”

She nodded. “You too.” Then she turned to leave.

She was almost gone before Jon remembered. "Oh, and Naomi?" She paused, looking back from the doorway. He offered her a small, cheerless smile. "Don't get lost."

She smiled back at him - an actual, genuine smile - and left.


	5. Stop telling people you’re them from the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid to Late Jan 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [this clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTQiMpqbsUE) from Phineas and Ferb; timestamp 1:40ish.

Martin glared at the kettle as it slowly came to a boil. He was in a bad mood. 

The box of statements he was currently trying to put in chronological order, ready to be filed away, was a  _ mess.  _ Half the statements in it weren’t even dated, so he was left trying to contact the people who had given them to see if they happened to remember when they had come in. Most just hung up on him, and that was  _ if  _ he managed to find their phone numbers in the first place.

It didn’t help that he knew all the statements were fakes, and there was basically no point in saving them in the first place. Sims had already been through the box and dismissed it.

It didn’t help that Jon had been breathing down his neck about it, nagging him about why it was taking so long and not listening to his explanations.

It had been a couple weeks, now, since Jon had come out of his office to join him - or Tim, or Sasha, - for a lunch break, since before the new year. Martin was desperately annoyed with himself that he actually missed him.

The kettle boiled; Martin prepared five mugs of tea. Tim’s and Sasha’s he left in the breakroom, balancing the other three delicately in his hands.

He dumped his own on his desk, nodding to Tim and Sasha - “Tea’s up,” - and carried the other two across the hallway to Jon’s office. Sims was coming down the hallway as Martin opened the door. He nodded in satisfaction. Wouldn’t have to go searching everywhere for him, then. That could get frustrating.

“Hi, Jon,” Martin said, as soon as he entered the room. Jon grunted, and Martin’s bad mood came back in full force.

“I’m busy.”

“I can see that.” His voice was more acidic than he would normally allow. "Here's your tea." Martin set the mug down on Jon's desk rather more heavily than he intended; the tea sloshed inside, a single drop spilling over the edge. Jon barely glanced up.

"Fine, fine, thank you." He waved a hand dismissively. Martin bit back a frustrated huff. It wasn't like Jon's behavior was anything  _ new, _ it was just...

Outside the office, the door still hanging open a few inches behind him, he handed the other mug off to Sims. Sims smiled at him, eyes sparkling with affection and nostalgia that... Martin knew it wasn't meant for  _ him,  _ truly, but...

Something small and warm in his chest still curled up in delight to see it, and to hear the gentle, quiet, "Thank you for the tea, Martin."

He smiled back, and his voice was soft when he replied. "It's no problem at all. It's, ah, what I do, you know?"

"I know."

The door slammed shut behind them. Martin jumped, and Sims glanced at it with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you excuse me for just a second, Martin? I need to have a word with myself."

~~~~~

Jon glared at the paperwork in front of him, fingers gripping his pencil tight enough it was in danger of breaking as he tapped it in a rapid rhythm. He didn't know why he was so  _ angry,  _ it was just...  _ Martin. _ Neglecting his job to make tea, fraternizing with this- this  _ interloper  _ that they probably couldn't even  _ trust- _

The door creaked open a few inches, and Sims poked his head around the opening. "Can I have a word?"

"About?" It came from between clenched teeth. Sims stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him and speaking quietly.

"Martin."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Except for the fact that there is. You're being too harsh on him."

Jon glanced up at him. Sims looked as disheveled as ever, hair hanging loose about his face and that same oversized sweater drooping off his shoulder. But there was a casual ease to the way he stood there that Jon envied, hands curling gently around the mug of tea that Martin had-

"All I'm doing is making sure he's  _ actually  _ working. Which is what we're  _ supposed  _ to be doing." He turned his face back to his paperwork, pointedly.

"You're being needlessly cruel. Because you miss him."

"I  _ what?" _ Jon raised his eyes again, actually laughing. "What on earth makes you say  _ that?" _

"Because I know you. Because I  _ am  _ you." Sims stepped forward, placing his mug on the desk and his palms flat on the surface next to it. He leaned forward insistently, putting his weight on his arms. "But you don't have to. He may be turning to me because he's desperate for a kind word, but it's  _ your  _ approval he truly wants. I'm just a- a stand in."

Jon snorted. "Martin's self-esteem issues are not my problem. He can go wherever he wants to for empty praise; I'm not going to start letting him slack off on the job just to make him  _ feel  _ better."

"He's not slacking off." Sims straightened. "Face the facts,  _ Jon. _ You're being hard on him because you're hurting, and you want to make him hurt in retribution. I know you don't want to admit it - god knows it took me long enough to come to terms with on my own. But you rely more than you even know on Martin being there for you, supporting you, and it's hurting you to see him give that same support to someone else. You need him."

The tip of the pencil shattered against the desk as Jon pressed it down hard, gritting out the words. "I  _ don't. _ Need him."

"Are you sure about that?" Sims raised an eyebrow. "Because I need him so much I'm clinging to this pale facsimile of him, this younger version who does not remember what I meant to him - what  _ he  _ meant to  _ me  _ \- to cover over the gaping hole in my chest." Sims gave a wan smile, picking up his tea again and taking a small sip. He turned toward the door, glancing back over his shoulder to deliver a final parting shot - "Think about it." - and then he was gone.

Jon slumped back in his chair, heart beating far too rapidly. He didn't- he wasn't going to-

They  _ weren't  _ the same person, and Martin could do whatever the  _ fuck  _ he wanted. He didn't  _ need  _ him.

He tossed the broken pencil aside, fishing another one out from a drawer.

He was  _ fine. _

~~~~~

Martin hurried down the stairs to the Archives, keys clutched in one hand and the other dragging through his hair in frustration. He was going to miss the train. He was going to miss the  _ bloody  _ train because he’d been distracted talking to Tim on his way out of work and he’d forgotten his coat, and by the time he found it and got back to the station it’d be gone and he’d have to wait for the  _ next- _

His train of thought was derailed as he passed by Jon’s office and heard a noise from within. Jon had been packing to leave as Martin was headed out the door; had something delayed him? Only…

Only that had sounded like a sob.

Martin stopped in the hallway, rocking on the balls of his feet as he debated with himself. If Jon  _ was  _ still here, he probably wouldn’t appreciate Martin bursting in on him -  _ especially  _ if he was crying. Martin couldn’t really imagine  _ anything  _ making Jon cry, though - he was too closed off, too stoic, too detached from the rest of the world. If something had made  _ him  _ cry, Martin didn’t want to leave him alone with it.

He pushed the door open gently, rapping his knuckles on the edge of the frame. “Jon?”

There was a startled noise from inside, rustling paper and a sniff. “Who- Martin? What are you… I thought everyone left?”

Martin stepped into the room. It wasn’t Jon; it was  _ Sims.  _ Curled up in Jon’s chair, a statement and a box of tissues on the desk in front of him, a tape recorder clutched in one hand. His eyes were red from crying, and as Martin watched a few more tears streaked down his cheeks.

“I- I forgot my coat…” This was… this was  _ worse  _ than it being Jon, somehow. Sims certainly seemed more the crying type than Jon did, but Martin didn’t really feel like it was his place to offer comfort. They were  _ friends,  _ sure, but… Sims had been through so much more than Martin could even imagine. How could anything he could say be enough to make it all better? “Are- are you alright?”

“No.” Sims grabbed a tissue, dabbing at his eyes before blowing his nose. “I mean… physically, yes. I haven’t been… attacked, or anything.” Martin hadn’t even considered that. “Emotionally… no worse than I have been, I suppose.”

“You’re crying.”

“Yeah.” Sims offered up a pathetic smile. “Nothing new about that.”

Martin swallowed, walking forward and sitting in the chair in front of the desk. He was going to miss his train, but he couldn’t exactly just up and leave  _ now,  _ could he? “What’s wrong?”

Sims let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. He sniffed again. “I’ve been here for a month and a half. There’ve been no signs of anyone coming after me. No- no little flashes of information about how long it could be, or where I should look, or even if he’s coming back at all.” He met Martin’s eyes, and his own were desperate and pleading. “What if he’s not coming back?”

His voice broke on the last word. Martin took a deep breath. “You- you mean m-” _me_ “-Martin? The- the other one?”

“My Martin. My…” Sims’ head fell back again. His eyes - and his voice - were distant. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if he doesn’t… I didn’t think… we were supposed to be  _ good.”  _ His hands clenched on the tape recorder, drawing a faint creak from the plastic casing. “This wasn’t supposed to- we were  _ set,  _ we had each other, we weren’t supposed to be torn apart  _ again.  _ We were  _ good.” _

Martin didn’t know what to say.  _ I’m right here?  _ But he wasn’t, was he, because the Martin that Sims was missing wasn’t  _ him,  _ and he wasn’t that Martin, and he never would be. “I… I’m sorry.” Sims closed his eyes, sending another few tears down his face. “I mean… I’m sure he’ll be back eventually? From what you’ve said… he’s just as desperate to find you as you are to find him.” Martin certainly would be, if it were Jon that were missing.

“I know. And that- that hurts too.” Sims sighed again. “The thought of him trapped in there, scared and alone, and I’m not there to help…” He trailed off, and this time Martin let the silence fall.

After a few minutes Sims shook his head. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem, and-” he glanced at the clock, “I’ve made you miss your train. I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t… it’s not something that can be fixed. Just… coped with.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Martin shook his head. “I mean… we’re friends, yeah? And that’s what friends do.”

“Yeah.” Sims nodded. He covered his face with his hands for a moment. When he pulled them away, he had managed a smile. “Thank you for listening, Martin. It- it helped.”

Martin took that as his cue to leave. He stood, tugging at the bottom of his shirt nervously. “Any time. Um, is there, is there anything else I can do, before I…?”

Sims hesitated, flushing, before standing as well. “I… if it’s not overstepping… I could really use a hug?”

Martin blinked in surprise. “Oh! Of, of course not. Here.” He stepped forward, raising his arms, and Sims met him halfway. He sank into Martin’s embrace like he belonged there, and Martin couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d done this before. He’d never hugged Jon.

But if Jon’s hugs were anything at all like Sims’, he wanted to try it, just as soon as he was able.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

Sims’ hands clutched at the back of his shirt near the neckline. His forearms and elbows were sharp lines down from that point, pressing across Martin’s back to hold him close. His chest was flush against Martin’s, and even though he was a few inches taller his head dipped down to rest in the crook between Martin’s neck and shoulder. His long hair tickled Martin’s chin.

He held Martin there, close and safe - it felt  _ so  _ safe, and maybe that was an odd response to a hug but there was definitely an element of protectiveness to Sims’ grip - for a full minute. Then he stepped back.

“Thank you. And- take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.” Martin smiled softly.

Sims walked him back to his own desk to grab his coat, then to the doors of the Institute. He stood watching as Martin headed down the street, and Martin turned to wave before turning the corner out of sight. Sims was a small figure in the doorway, hunched in on himself in the cold night air, one arm raised in farewell. He looked unbearably lonely, and Martin ached to think that there wasn’t anyone in the world who could help ease that loneliness. Not yet. Maybe never.

He sighed, and continued on his way to the station.

~~~~~

There was something strange about Martin.

Jon’s office door was open today; he could hear him, across the hallway in the assistants' office, laughing at one of Tim’s jokes. Sasha’s bright chuckle provided a counterpoint, and Jon was… feeling good. It was nice listening to them having fun, even if it meant they weren’t doing their work, even if he wasn’t a part of it. It was cheerful.

And it had been cheerful the day before, too, hearing Sims and Tim discussing the architecture of Robert Smirke for hours. Tim had been right about its supernatural significance, apparently, and his various gasps and disbelieving exclamations as Sims went into detail about Smirke’s involvement with Jonah Magnus were quite entertaining.

And when Tim had moved off to another task, and Sasha had chimed in with questions of her own, and Sims had spent just as long talking to her… it was great. Jon felt like there was a small and dedicated team forming in his department, and even if he wasn’t technically in charge of it anymore it still felt like it was  _ his. _

But there was something strange about Martin.

Jon like hearing Martin, Tim, and Sasha getting along. He was fine with Sasha and Tim talking with Sims. But when  _ Martin  _ talked to  _ Sims… _

It made his blood boil, and he didn’t know why.

It couldn’t just be hatred of Sims, or loneliness like he’d originally thought. If the former were the case, he’d be just as angry when he talked to Tim and Sasha. If it were the latter, he’d hurt no matter what the combination of people was.

No, it was something specific about Martin, and about the way that Martin interacted with Sims, and Jon was going to figure it out if it killed him.

As if on cue, he heard Martin announce that he was going to go make tea. Jon didn’t know if that was good or bad. Martin bringing him tea was one of the few times they had interacted face to face these last few weeks, so it gave him the opportunity to study the strangeness in close proximity… but it also meant an opportunity for Martin to notice something was wrong, and start asking for explanations that Jon didn’t have yet.

He tried to focus on the statement he was researching - another one without a date, and with basically no contact information, this time handed off by Tim with a heartfelt cry of  _ It’s impossible!  _ \- but his thoughts kept drifting back to Martin.

He tensed when he heard Martin’s footsteps coming back from the breakroom. The familiar call of “Tea’s up,” came from the assistant’s room, which meant it was a matter of moments before Martin would be at his door, coming in with that little smile he always had, and Jon would have to try to figure out what to say to him, and-

Martin’s footsteps receded back up the hallway.

Jon blinked. Had- had Martin forgotten to bring him tea?

Maybe he had actually brought Tim and Sasha their mugs today, like he used to do when it was only four and he could carry them all at once - maybe he was heading back to the breakroom to grab Jon’s?

Only… why wouldn’t he just bring four in one trip, and leave one for its own trip? Or three and two? Or literally just knock on Jon’s door and tell him the tea was ready, and he could go and fetch his own damn mug? Not that Martin would swear at him. He hoped.

Martin had forgotten to make him tea.

Jon was having trouble breathing. He- was he having a  _ panic attack? _ Over  _ tea?  _ Over- over Martin.

No, he knew what those felt like. This was different, this was- his vision was blurry. His chest was aching, and he was having trouble breathing because Martin had forgotten him, and- and  _ god,  _ that hurt.

He was on the edge of tears. Over fucking  _ tea. _

Jon forced himself to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. It wasn’t a big deal. Martin wasn’t  _ obligated  _ to make him tea. He was just… thrown off. He didn’t like routines being disturbed, and he was just… 

He was fine.

Jon pushed his chair back from the desk. He could make his own tea.

Martin was standing just outside the door to the breakroom when Jon walked up, chatting with Sims. Sims was holding a mug of tea; it seemed Martin’s return to this area of the Archives had been to bring it to him.

Jon’s hands clenched into fists, and it took a conscious effort to relax them. He was fine.

Neither of them tried to stop him as he brushed past into the breakroom. He put more water in the kettle, clicked it on. Ignored the fact that Martin’s mug was still sitting on the table, which meant he’d be in any second now and Jon would have to talk to him. Took the tea down from the shelf. Grabbed a mug. Tried to remember if he liked his tea with milk and sugar. Ignored the little lurch in his chest when he realized Martin had been making him tea so long he’d completely forgotten.

The water boiled just as Martin came into the room. Jon purposefully avoided him, clicking the kettle off and pouring the water into his mug. He was setting a timer on his phone for how long he needed to steep the tea when he realized that Martin was just staring at him.

Martin noticed that he had noticed, and spoke. “What are you doing?”

Jon glanced away, pretending to focus on his phone. “Making tea.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s that time of day.”

“You never seem to want tea when  _ I  _ bring it to you.”

That same little lurch, and his eyes stung. Christ, was he going to start crying again? What the hell was wrong with him today? “What makes you say that?”

“You tell me to get back to work about nine times out of ten. And on the tenth you don’t even notice I’m there.”

Guilt. That was the little lurch. “I… I get busy.”

“Clearly. Busy enough that you can stop to make your own tea if I don’t.”

“Christ, Martin, I never  _ asked  _ you to make me tea.” He looked up, and- mistake. Martin’s face was set in stone, a determined slant to his mouth. Jon’s breath caught. “I- I mean…”

“No, no, it’s okay. I kind of figured, actually.” Martin gave a bitter smile. “That’s why I didn’t, today. Figured you’d had enough of me bothering you. I’ll let you be in the future, as well.”

The bottom dropped out of Jon’s stomach as Martin turned for the door. He was going to stop bringing Jon tea  _ completely?  _ No, he couldn’t, it was the only time they saw each other, he needed-

Fuck.

He needed. Sims had been right.

“Martin, wait.” Jon stepped forward, caught his arm. His heart was hammering in his chest. “I- I’m sorry.”

“For?” Martin had stopped walking, but didn’t look at him.

“Everything?” No, that wasn’t right - not specific enough. In this situation, it came off as a cop out. “I’m sorry for- for not telling you that I notice when you bring me tea. Because I do. Every time. Even if I don’t say anything.”

Martin looked at him. His face was still guarded, but… softening.

“And I- I like it. Not just because you make good tea, and you do, it’s amazing, but- but also because it means you care. I… I’m not used to people caring. And I’m not good at showing it in return. But…” he bit his lip. “You’re my friend, Martin. Or at least I’d like you to be. And I got so used to you being there for me that I forgot I was supposed to show you how much it meant- how much it means.”

The hard edges of Martin’s expression melted, and he smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jon was a little breathless. He smiled back, giving Martin’s arm a little squeeze. “Yeah. Um, I’ll- I’ll try to remember. In the future. That you can’t, ah, read my mind.”

Martin laughed. “What?”

“I mean-” Jon flushed. “That when you do something that I appreciate, you won’t know how much I appreciate it unless I tell you. So I’ll try to remember to tell you.”

“Oh.” Martin was still smiling. He turned, and set his mug gently on the counter. Then, before Jon could even process what was happening, Martin hugged him.

It was… nice. It was  _ really  _ nice. Martin was warm, and soft, and round, and Jon grabbed the back of his shirt with both hands before he could think through what he was doing and mashed his face into Martin’s shoulder. Martin’s breath hitched, probably laughing, and Jon smiled too. Martin’s head was turned to the side, chin digging a little into Jon’s chest as he pressed against him, and he had both arms looped around Jon’s back in an all-encompassing embrace. Jon could have melted into it if he let himself.

Instead, he loosened his arms a little, and both he and Martin stepped back.

“Um, you’re my friend too, by the way,” Martin said, and Jon couldn’t fight back the giddy grin on his face at that.

“Good.”

Martin picked up his mug. Jon held out a hand to stop him before he could leave.

“Wait, Martin, one more thing. Um… how do I take my tea?”

~~~~~

Martin had to admit, he felt a little guilty about the tea.

Not that he wasn’t happy with the results: Jon had been  _ so  _ much more considerate these past few days, thanking Martin for every mug and actually joining him for lunch again a few times. And he’d called Martin his  _ friend!  _ And hugged him! (And oh, god, Martin’s heart still skipped a beat at that. Jon had just collapsed against him, all bones and angles and a faint scent of shampoo...)

But that look on his face when Martin had said he was going to stop bringing him tea  _ permanently…  _ well, he felt guilty about it.

But it wasn’t like it had been  _ his  _ idea. And Sims had been right that Jon needed a wake-up call about his own behavior.

Martin bit his lip and ducked his head, trying to fight back a smile. Tim and Sims were both in the room with him, and he didn’t particularly want to face whatever teasing would come his way if they found out what he was smiling about. He turned back to his computer, trying to focus on work.

It was a few minutes later that Sims bolted upright in his chair. The sudden movement left Martin scrambling for his dropped paperwork, and when he looked up he saw a slow smile spreading across Sims’ face.

"He's  _ here." _

"Who's that?" Tim left his own desk to help Martin with the paperwork. Sims didn't reply, pushing his chair back and heading for the door with quick, excited steps.

Martin frowned, looking after him. Tim frowned as well. Then he stood, dropping an armload of papers on Martin’s desk. "Come on, then. Let's go see what he's on about."

Sims was headed deep into the main stacks, wending his way around shelves piled high with old paper. They picked up Sasha and Jon as they followed him, both of them giving Martin and Tim confused looks and receiving shrugs in return.

He was hard to track, moving at such a fast pace, and they lost sight of him several times around various corners. As they turned the last one and saw him heading up the aisle in front of them they stopped dead, colliding with each other in their haste.

There was a... door. At the end of the aisle. In a shelf. A yellow door, where no door had a right to be.

Sims was practically jogging toward it, pace increasing as it creaked open. And out of it stepped...

Martin blinked. Out of it stepped Martin Blackwood. He was too far away to see any real details, but Martin would have bet his life he had a scar on his forehead.

"You're late!"

The other Martin laughed, starting to move toward Sims. "Well, excuse  _ me  _ for getting lost in the literal  _ concept  _ of a maze. It's not exactly easy to navigate!"

He caught Sims as they drew level with each other, throwing his arms around him, and they-

They kissed. It was a long kiss. It was a passionate kiss. Martin felt an irrational stab of jealousy, watching it.

"Holy shit." Tim murmured.

It was a  _ very  _ long kiss.

"Should we...?" Sasha took a vague step back in the direction of the door. Thankfully, the kiss broke off before they actually had to flee. The two at the other end of the aisle pressed their foreheads together, and the soft murmur of voices drifted over to the watching group, though the words themselves were lost. After a moment they pulled apart, and Sims gestured back towards Martin and the others, speaking a little louder.

"There's some people I think you might want to meet."

Martin's eyes were fixed on his duplicate's face as he drew closer. It was... disturbing, in a way. He could see, now, why Jon had been so freaked out. This other Martin shared his face, his hair, his hands, the way he walked, even... but there were lines around his eyes, length in his hair, exhaustion in the slope of his shoulders, and that scar, a faint white line, crossing over his forehead.

He was a weathered and aged version of Martin, not all that much older when it came down to it, but so much more broken.

Still. The smile that lit his face when he saw the group at the end of the hallway carried a level of joy that Martin himself wasn't sure he had ever felt.

"Sasha? Tim?"

"That's us." Tim waved, a bit awkwardly. The other Martin dropped Sims' hand and strode forward, flinging his arms around Tim and Sasha before they had a chance to protest. Sims stood back, smiling at them, and Jon leaned in toward Martin's shoulder.

"Feels a bit like we're invisible, doesn't it?"

Martin covered his mouth to hold back a laugh. It was a fairly accurate observation; not one he would have expected from Jon, though.

"Well, that's what we get for not dying, I suppose."

Jon chuckled quietly, and a bit of the jealousy Martin had been feeling bled away.  _ This  _ was his Jon, the one he really cared about. Why should it matter to him if some other Martin got to kiss some  _ other  _ Jon?  _ His  _ Jon was right by his side, laughing at his jokes.

Well... not _ his, _ not by a long shot. But it still made him feel better, having him there.

The other Martin finally let Tim and Sasha go, stepping back and wiping at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, “sorry, it’s just… really good to see you? It’s been so long.”

“So we’ve heard.” Sasha gave him a hesitant smile. “Sims has told us a bit of what happened.”

“Sims?” He turned, frowning, and Sims smiled at him.

“Yeah, they figured it would be less confusing, given… well, given them.” He gestured at Jon and Martin, taking the other Martin - Blackwood, probably, they would be calling him Blackwood - gently by the shoulder and leading him over. “I’m sure you don’t need me to introduce them. Jon, Martin, I’d like you to meet my husband, Martin Blackwood-Sims.”

Martin’s brain stopped working. Next to him, Jon made a strangled noise.

So… okay, he probably should have figured this out before. Sims had been  _ really  _ encouraging every time he tried to get close to Jon, and in retrospect it definitely looked like matchmaking. And there was the small matter of the ring, and the fact that Sims had been waiting for Blackwood like his life depended on whether or not the man came back, and he’d never mentioned anyone else who could  _ possibly  _ be his husband or wife…

And he  _ really  _ should have put two and two together when they kissed…

But the idea that in some alternate timeline Jon had actually fallen in  _ love  _ with him, that they had gotten  _ married,  _ was so far fetched that Martin could barely process it, even with the proof standing right before his eyes and holding hands. He hadn’t even known Jon wasn’t  _ straight. _

The strangled noise resolved itself into a word.  _ “Husband?”  _ Jon choked out. Well, that made Martin feel a little better.  _ He  _ hadn’t known, either.

_ “Seriously?”  _ Tim’s interjection overlapped perfectly with Sasha’s “Oh my  _ god.” _

Tim stormed over, lightly smacking Martin’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You  _ seriously  _ still hadn’t worked that out?”

“Wait, you  _ knew?” _

Blackwood startled. “Wait, you  _ didn’t?”  _ He turned to Sims, who was laughing. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I was waiting to see how long it would take them to figure it out on their own.” He nodded at Tim and Sasha. “Looks like you both lost your bet.”

Jon finally found his voice. It was steeped in fury.  _ “You were betting on us?”  _

Sasha waved a hand dismissively. “Come on, it was all in good fun. Honestly, though, who did you  _ think  _ he was married to?”

“I- I hadn’t really- look, I was focusing on other things!” 

Blackwood smiled, and leaned up to whisper something in Sims’ ear. Sims chuckled, and Martin  _ really  _ wished he knew what that was about.

“Besides, Martin didn’t know either! Did- did you?” Jon turned to Martin, something akin to pleading in his eyes.

“No!” Martin spluttered. “No, I had no idea! I would have  _ told  _ you!” He was aware that his face was slowly turning red. He was also aware that both Sims and Blackwood were watching him with amused expressions, and-  _ fuck.  _ If they were married, they must have talked about when they first started falling for each other, which meant they both  _ knew  _ about his feelings for Jon. 

“Amusing though it is watching you both panic,” Sims said, “I think there’s some things we need to discuss in private. If that’s alright with you, Martin?” Sims glanced at his husband, smiling, and the level of pure  _ love  _ resonating through his voice nearly floored Martin. Blackwood glanced back at Tim and Sasha, seeming to hesitate for a second, before nodding.

“Yeah. I’ll catch up with everyone later.” They turned to leave. Sims rested his hand against the small of Blackwood’s back as they walked, gentle and supportive, and the younger Archives staff stared with dropped jaws as they made their way out the door.

Sasha was the first to break the silence. “Okay, I knew they were married, but I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting…  _ that.” _

“Tell me about it.” Tim huffed out a laugh. “He’s absolutely besotted. Blackwood’s got him wrapped around his finger.” He paused. “Wait, it  _ is  _ Blackwood, yeah? We’re calling him Blackwood?”

“It’s Blackwood.” Jon’s voice was toneless, and his eyes were still fixed on the door that Blackwood and Sims had disappeared through. Martin cleared his throat.

“Um, Jon?” Jon’s eyes snapped to him. Martin tried not to flinch. “This, uh, this doesn’t change anything, does it? F- for us, I mean.”

There was a tense moment where Jon just looked at him, unmoving. Then: “No. No, I don’t…  _ think  _ it does. Th- they’ve changed our futures, by coming back. Just because they’re-” Jon was blushing, “-uh, they’re… well, it doesn’t mean we have to… it doesn’t have to make things weird for us.”

Martin didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He was pretty sure he could handle a bit of weird if it led to Jon kissing him the way Sims had kissed Blackwood. Then again, he also didn’t want Jon to panic and stop talking to him again just because things were a little awkward.

“Good.” He forced a smile. “Good, so we’re… still friends?”

“Yeah.” Jon breathed out, shoulders relaxing slightly with the exhalation. “Still friends.”

_ “Well,” _ Sasha clapped her hands together, and both Jon and Martin jumped. “Revealing as this has been, and adorable as you two are being right now, I had soup in the microwave when all the chaos started and I’d really like to get an opportunity to eat it. So I’m gonna go.”

“Right with you, Sash. What kind of soup?” Tim stepped quickly after her as she started to walk away.

“Tomato, but you’re going to have to make your own.”

“Aw, can’t I just steal yours?”

_ “No.” _

They left, bickering all the way. Jon gestured vaguely over his shoulder.

“I’m, uh… going to go…”

“Right.” Martin nodded. “And I need to…”

Neither of them finished the sentence, turning and walking away without making eye contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been illustrated!  
> [@nidoodle’s](https://nidoodle.tumblr.com/) art can be seen [here!](https://nidoodle.tumblr.com/post/620494491426652160/my-first-post-is-a-scene-from-chapter-5-of)


	6. Happy Days (Are Here Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feb 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [Happy Days Are Here Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beF3WV2GHgk) by Barbara Streisand (or at least her version of it), and I cannot tell you how hard it was to resist naming it "Howdy Gay Times."

Martin Blackwood-Sims was having trouble breathing. There was a tight pressure around his chest, crushing the air out of him, and thick fabric covering his mouth and nose that choked any breath he tried to take into a shallow, gasping thing.

He laughed.

“J- Jon, I can’t breath!”

The pressure released suddenly as Jon backed off, and Martin was able to peel his face away from Jon’s sweater. He coughed, spitting out a few strands of wool.

“That was quite a hug.”

“Sorry.” Jon didn’t sound sorry. He still had his hands on Martin’s shoulders, and his grin was so wide Martin probably could have counted his teeth if he were so inclined. “I’ve missed you.”

Martin stretched up to kiss his cheek, then pulled him back into a more gentle embrace. “How long has it been?”

“Almost two months.” Jon leaned his cheek against the top of Martin’s head. “I arrived in early December, and it’s almost February.”

Martin inhaled sharply. Two months? No wonder Jon was in such a state. His own sense of the time that had passed was, predictably, distorted, but he had never reached a point where he thought he wouldn’t find his way back to Jon. But after two months… Jon must have been terrified. After two months gone, it could be years before someone came back. It could be never.

He kept his voice carefully light. “Back in time for Valentine’s Day, then.”

Jon chuckled. “I’m going to absolutely drown you in chocolates.”

Martin kissed him again, on the lips this time, and with a bit more passion behind it. Jon was such a sap sometimes, and it always set Martin’s heart racing.

A thought occurred to him when they finally broke apart to breathe.

“Wait, February? Naomi?” She had been first on their list of people to help.

“Safe. Sent away fully informed and nightmare-free.”

“Excellent. And we’ve got almost a month to prepare for the worms.”

“Already on it.” Jon freed one arm from Martin’s waist so that he could pull out his phone. It was sleek and shiny - clearly both very new, and  _ very  _ expensive. He must have succeeded in extorting a company credit card away from Magnus, too. Nice. Martin would need a new phone as well, sooner rather than later - even if his hadn’t broken in the apocalypse, he doubted his carrier would keep him on a plan that had been purchased a year in the future.

Jon turned his phone to show Martin the screen. “I’ve ordered two dozen CO2 extinguishers already. It should be enough.”

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Jon laughed again. “I love you too.”

“Oh, wait-” Martin took a step back, and Jon let out a small, disappointed noise. Martin rolled his eyes, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll be back in under a minute, chill out.” He found what he was looking for, and pulled it out with a triumphant grin. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at the smooth, polished bone that Martin was holding out to him. “I, uh… I don’t particularly want it back.”

“It’s  _ your  _ rib, Jon.”

“Yes, but I gave it to you.”

Martin frowned. “I thought you just needed me to hold onto it while we were in the corridors.”

“No, no, it was a gift.”

“Oh.” Martin glanced down at the bone, tightening his fingers around it. He was well aware that it should probably freak him out, but… well. It was a piece of Jon. He was literally giving a piece of himself to Martin, and Martin couldn’t deny that having it with him in Helen’s corridors had been comforting. He had just thought it was a loan, not a gift. “You probably should have been clearer about that when you handed it to me. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jon held out his arms. “Now will you get back here?”

Martin laughed, tucking the rib back into his pocket and returning to Jon’s embrace. Jon relaxed against him.

“Next thing I know you’re going to be telling me you thought I was just borrowing your sweater,” Jon murmured.

“Oh, no, I know that was stolen permanently.”

Jon hummed, breath ruffling Martin’s hair. “It’s nice having something of yours with me when you’re not here.”

Martin was about to switch back into comforting mode when the implications of that sank in. He knew the sweater Jon was referring to - it was the one he was wearing at this moment, that Martin had been resting his head against, but-

He grabbed a handful of the fabric, tugging Jon’s arm straight out to the side as he examined the sleeve. “Have you been wearing this the  _ entire  _ time I’ve been gone?”

“Given your tone, I’m assuming the correct answer is no.”

“Jon, that’s disgusting.” Martin made a face. “It’s been two months, this thing needs to go in the wash.”

“It’s wool, Martin, it doesn’t go in the wash.”

“Yes, actually, it does. Come here.” Martin grabbed the edges of the sweater, tugging it up over Jon’s head. He let out a muffled protest, trying to cross his arms to prevent Martin taking it off him, but Martin just dragged it over his head anyway. Jon pouted, wool-covered arms still crossed over his chest, staticky hair hanging in his face. Martin sighed, trying to stop the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Wool gets washed on cold, and then you need to block it afterward to make sure it keeps its shape. Seriously, this is just basic maintenance stuff.”

Jon relented, letting his arms fall so Martin could tug the sweater off the rest of the way. “Fine. You should wash your things as well; I’ve picked up some new clothes for you. They should fit, and I think I know your fashion sense pretty well at this point.”

“Thanks.” Martin started undressing; they were in the old document storage room, where Jon had been staying for the past two months, and it gave them a fair amount of privacy. “It  _ would  _ be nice to not smell like an apocalypse anymore. Does this mean you’re ready to face other people again?”

Jon shrugged. “Not really? But as long as you’re there, I can handle it.” He reached out, laying a hand on Martin’s arm as he struggled out of his trousers. “I’m… glad you’re back.”

Martin paused, covering Jon’s hand with his own. “I don’t plan on leaving again.”

~~~~~

Martin had been back for exactly four hours, twenty-one minutes, and thirty seconds. Not that Jon was counting.

Jon wasn’t, in fact, doing much of anything.

He’d dragged an extra chair behind his desk in the assistant’s office, and Martin was currently glued to his computer screen, double-checking the various lists of names, dates, and locations that Jon had been compiling as he worked out all the steps they needed to take to save the world. Every now and then he would add a detail, or correct a mistake, or, if he was particularly focused on what he was reading, as he was right now, he would put his teeth against his lower lip and bite it gently. It was very distracting.

What Jon  _ was  _ doing, was staring. His eyes roamed every inch of Martin’s face, relearning all the small details that he knew so well. The curve of his cheek; the small mole at the corner of his nose; the faint white streak of the scar from that damn roof tile. He’d washed his hair, and as it dried it was slowly bouncing back to it’s full curly glory, the dark brown shining under the fluorescent lights. Jon’s heart hurt from it all. He loved Martin so,  _ so  _ much, and he had been so,  _ so  _ afraid that he wasn’t coming back.

"Uh, Jon?" Martin turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. The movement shifted the light over his face, catching new glints off his hair.

"Hm?"

"Everything okay? You, uh, you seem pretty out of it."

"Oh." Jon shook himself, trying to focus. "Sorry. You're just really pretty."

There was a spluttering sound behind them. Jon glanced over to find his younger self - who had been looking through the files on one of the shelves, and apparently listening in - choking on his tea. He grinned.

"What? He  _ is." _

The other Jon set the tea down on the shelf, coughing to catch his breath. "N- no, he's-"

"Oi, are you calling me ugly?" Martin held a hand to his chest in mock offense. 

"N-no, I mean-" Jon grinned, watching himself flounder. "You're- you've got very... aesthetically pleasing features, I'm sure, you're just not my type."

"Oh, I  _ beg  _ to differ."

Jon had never had the pleasure of watching himself blush before he arrived in the past. He had found that he did so with surprising regularity, and that it was  _ dreadfully  _ obvious when he did. His younger self’s face darkened by several shades as blood rushed to his cheeks, and Jon could practically see the heat radiating off of him.

He chanced a glance at the other occupants of the room. Tim and Sasha were both bent double in their chairs, shaking with silent laughter, and the other Martin was red to the tips of his ears even as he pretended to focus on the file in his hands. 

The younger Jon snatched his tea back from the shelf.

“I’m not participating in this conversation. This is- it’s an HR violation, or something.”

He stalked out of the room, followed by a snort of laughter that finally slipped past Sasha’s control. 

“An  _ HR violation?”  _ she choked out, as soon as the door shut.

“Don’t worry, Martins, we all know you’re pretty.” Tim leaned back in his chair, gasping for breath. “Oh, god, this is better than I ever thought it would be. The look on his face…”

“I’m going to go make some more tea.” Young Martin stood quickly, grabbing his mug and hurrying from the room. Tim and Sasha laughed even harder.

Jon’s Martin leaned over, speaking quietly. “Anything new going on there that I should know about?”

Jon shrugged. “Jon was being even more of an ass than  _ I  _ was, during this stretch. I recommended young you stop bringing him tea for a bit to shock him out of it.”

Martin gasped. “Jon, that’s just mean.”

“Yeah, well, it worked. Apparently he outright broke down and apologized for his behavior, said he wanted to be friends and he’d do better in the future. And he  _ has  _ been, they’ve even been taking lunch breaks together.”

“Wait,  _ he’s  _ been taking lunch breaks? You  _ never  _ took lunch breaks.”

“I can hardly believe it myself.”

Martin tilted his head back, eyes narrowing in thought. “Are you telling me all I needed to do, way back when, was stop bringing you tea, and we could have jumped… I don’t know, two years ahead in relationship development?”

Jon laughed. “Unfortunately not, I think. There’s been a bit of…” he lowered his voice even further, raising his eyebrows significantly, “jealousy, helping things along.”

“Ohhh, yeah.” Martin nodded sagely. “I could definitely see that. If  _ you’d  _ turned up when I was his age - this you, I mean - I’d have been head over heels. Not that I wasn’t already.”

“I don’t think I’d go that far,” Jon said. “He’s still stuck on Jon like glue. It’s more… he  _ wants  _ to be able to let go of his thing for Jon, but he can’t help himself. Especially when the kinder, older, more attentive version of his crush is mad in love with his husband.”

“True.” Martin glanced at Tim and Sasha, making sure they weren’t watching, then leaned in and kissed him. “But I’d wager he’s still acting like a besotted puppy around you.”

“It’s driving Jon crazy.” Jon grinned, and Martin laughed.

“Wonder how they’re going to react to seeing the two of us together. I’m guessing… much, much more blushing. With a side of pining, at least as far as young me is concerned.” He wasn’t used to calling his past self  _ Martin,  _ yet. It had taken Jon ages to adjust to calling young Jon  _ Jon,  _ but it was getting easier the longer they were around each other, and young Jon started to feel like a person in his own right instead of just a memory.

“I wouldn’t count on the pining being all on your side,” Jon said. “I think we’ve managed to… speed things up a little, as it were, on my end.”

_ “Really?”  _ Martin looked delighted. “Well, this’ll be fun.”

~~~~~

Jon had been staying in document storage for two months. The implications of this didn’t hit Martin until that night, standing in the room in the pajamas that Jon had bought him, staring at the small cot. The small,  _ uncomfortable  _ cot that was  _ too  _ small for two people, really, even though they’d managed it for a bit in those first couple months back in London after the world ended.

“Living in the Archives again. Joy of joys.”

Jon came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing the top of his head. “We can go flat hunting soon. I just didn’t want to do that without you.”

“Thanks.” Martin turned, going up on tiptoes to kiss Jon properly. They’d been doing that a lot, all day. Kissing and holding hands, standing or sitting close enough that their shoulders could brush. More than they usually did, but then, Martin had apparently been gone a long time.

Jon tasted like spearmint toothpaste. He snaked a hand into Martin’s hair, tugging his fingers through the curls in the way that Martin loved, then pulled back to whisper, “Come on, darling. Let’s go to bed.”

They’d figured out this arrangement a long time ago. If they had to share a small bed, neither of them could sleep on their front or back, or they’d be falling off the sides. Neither of them wanted to sleep back to back, unless they were having an argument, which had only happened a handful of times and never lasted more than one night. Spooning was favorable, as it minimized the space between them and allowed whoever was taking on the role of big spoon to drag the little spoon back onto the bed if he should happen to start falling off; but tonight they laid down face to face, hands linked between them, because Jon was not in the mood to stop kissing Martin.

Martin certainly did not mind. It was a bit of an awkward angle, both of them pushing their heads forward so their lips could meet, but it was worth it. The corridors had been… well, nightmarish, as always, and worse as they cut through both space and time. Nothing was real in there, or perhaps everything was; either way, it messed with the mind, twisting perception and sanity until all that was left were bright colors and shifting walls. Martin needed real things right now, and the warmth of Jon pressed close against him was the realest thing he knew.

Jon let out a disgruntled noise after a few minutes, breaking the kiss to push himself up on one elbow. He switched his grip to hold both of Martin’s hands in one of his own, then pushed the other back into his hair. Martin dropped his head back onto the pillow. From this angle, Jon could kiss him easily.

“Much better,” he said, then bent down into a kiss that left Martin gasping.

“Christ, Jon,” he panted. “Give a guy a little warning.”

“Okay. I’m going to keep kissing you,” Jon said, and did just that.

After a few minutes he moved on from Martin’s mouth, pressing a series of feather-light kisses along his jaw and up towards his ear. Martin laughed, squirming a little at the ticklish sensation.

“Jon, stop,” it came out breathless. “You’re making me blush!”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Jon placed one last kiss on the tip of his nose before pulling back. Martin propped himself up on one elbow, taking a minute to just look at him. Jon’s eyes were bright as he smiled back at Martin, but there was a certain heaviness in his movements that spoke of long, sleepless nights.

“Oh, sweetheart...” They didn’t use endearments too often, usually reserving them for when they were being particularly soft with each other. Martin reached out, cupping one hand gently against Jon’s cheek, brushing a few stray strands of hair back with the motion. Jon sighed, eyes slipping closed, and turned into the touch. He pressed a small kiss against the base of Martin’s palm.

“I missed you.”

Martin’s heart clenched. He shifted closer to Jon on the cot. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah.” Jon’s eyes opened, and he smiled again. “I know.”

Martin stroked a finger along his cheek, then paused. “You don’t actually have to stop, you know. I was just teasing.”

“Oh thank god.” Jon let out a breath and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing Martin back against the mattress and pinning him there. Martin went easily, laughing, and wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist as he was subjected to another barrage of kisses.

They fell asleep like that, with Jon curled up on Martin's chest, and slept well into the morning.

~~~~~

Jon was pretty sure he hadn’t stopped smiling in weeks.

There was nothing much going on in February that they had to worry about, other than preparing for the worms. No one coming in to give live statements, no lives to save. Magnus threw a fit about adding Martin to the payroll, but relented, as he always did, as soon as Jon gave him what Martin called his ‘death glare.’ It wasn’t like the Institute couldn’t afford it, anyway. They got more than enough funding from the Lukases.

So they were basically free to do whatever they wanted. They got a flat, moved in. Went furniture shopping and bought more throw pillows than they could ever need. Threw a dinner party for the other Archives staff, and spent half the evening bonding with Tim and Sasha and the other half trying to get young Jon and Martin to fall for each other. Mostly that consisted of being utterly, sickeningly in love with each other and watching their past selves get jealous.

They went on dates. Martin took up knitting again. Jon amassed a huge selection of books that he’d once wanted to read, and never had time for, and read them all. They watched TV. They went grocery shopping.

Jon could honestly say that he’d never been happier in his entire life. And he couldn’t stop smiling.

~~~~~

“Think they’ll go along with it?”

“They’d better. They’re the ones who’ll be in danger if they don’t.”

“And when did that ever stop  _ us?” _

Martin smiled. Jon was sitting cross-legged on top of the desk they shared in the assistants’ office, fiddling with the corkscrew he held in his hands. Tonight was the night Martin had originally broken into Carlos Vittery’s building and been attacked by Jane Prentiss; tonight was the night they were going to stop her for good.

“Well,  _ we  _ never understood the consequences of our actions,” Martin said. “‘It’s dangerous’ is a bit less of a deterrent than ‘there are thousands of tiny little worms that’ll burrow into your skin and eat you from the inside out, look, here are the scars to prove it.’”

“True.” Jon set the corkscrew to his side, reaching out to grab Martin’s hands. “You sure you’re okay going back?”

“I’ll be fine, Jon.” He’d asked this a hundred times already; they’d  _ both  _ asked each other a hundred times. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course.” Jon tugged his hands, pulling him into a kiss. Martin stepped forward until his knees hit the edge of the desk, tilting his head back to meet him.

“Do you  _ have  _ to do that here?”

The peeved voice came from the doorway. Martin turned, and found young Jon staring at them with one hand on the door handle and a faintly disgusted look on his face.

“Well, we weren’t bothering anyone until you came in,” Martin said. The assistants were all on their lunch break.

“And anyway, can’t a man kiss his husband in peace?”

Martin didn’t really understand why Jon had so much fun riling up his counterpart, but he was very good at it. His hand clenched around the door handle, knuckles turning white.

“This is a  _ workplace.” _

“And we’ve worked here a lot longer than you. Trust me, there’s no harm in a little open affection.”

“There is when it’s with-” The words were bitten off in a snarl. As always, there was a fine line between expressing distaste at the idea of being with Martin Blackwood and not outright insulting Martin Blackwood-Sims, and Jon Sims was prone to crossing it.

Martin wasn’t insulted. Just amused. “Not jealous, are you?” And okay, maybe he understood a  _ little  _ why Jon enjoyed riling him up.

_ “Jealous?” _

“Yeah, just saying. This could easily be interpreted as you getting angry ‘cause  _ you  _ want to kiss me, and  _ he’s  _ the one who gets to actually do it.”

“I-”

“Oh dear, Martin,” Jon chimed in from behind him, voice light with playfulness. "Should I be worried about you being stolen away by my younger, more handsome counterpart?"

Martin tilted his head to the side, pretending to consider it. "Hmm... I mean, he  _ is  _ pretty good looking. But on the other hand, he's a bit of an asshole."

"You're right." Jon nodded sagely. "He  _ is  _ a bit of an asshole."

"I am  _ right  _ here!" The other Jon was glaring at them, hands clenched into fists. Martin's Jon smiled at him.

"Yes. And you're a bit of an asshole."

"I am, as you so  _ frequently  _ remind me,  _ you." _

"Yes, you are." Jon hopped down from the desk, strolling over to his younger self and putting a consoling hand on his shoulder. "But I've had a lot more time to soften up, and I've actually taken the time to listen to the good influences in my life." He tilted his head in Martin's direction. "So I'm, you know. Less of an asshole."

"Only by a bit."

Jon raised a hand behind his back, flipping Martin off where his younger self couldn't see. Martin cackled. Jon was not inclined to external profanity very often (he’d once told Martin he swore all the time in his head, which Martin still had a hard time believing), but he'd started producing more of it when he realized how much it amused Martin. He patted the other Jon's shoulder. 

"You, on the other hand, are still young and obnoxious, and hopefully you'll never go through the experiences that led me to where I am today, but you could still do with a bit of softening."

Young Jon pulled away from his hand. “If you’re done  _ insulting  _ me,” he huffed, “that’s what I came in here to ask about. You said there was something going on today. What is it?”

“Worms.” Maybe Martin’s voice was a little more chipper than he intended, but it was worth it for the utterly baffled look on young Jon’s face.

_ “Worms?” _

“Jane Prentiss,” Jon clarified. “We know where she’s going to be tonight, so we’re going to stop her before she becomes a threat to the Archives.”

“What can I do to help?”

Martin had to resist rolling his eyes. Trust any version of Jon to want to throw himself into danger for everyone else’s sake. “All we need from you is your keys.”

“My- what?”

“Your keys.” Jon held out a hand. “To the Archives. And Tim’s, Sasha’s, and Martin’s.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to lock you in while we go deal with Prentiss.”

Jon stared at Jon, and Martin bit back a smile. He should have known they wouldn’t get along.  _ He  _ got on fine with his younger self, passing on all the advice and encouragement he had needed to hear at that age. Jon just pissed himself off.

God, Martin loved them both so much.

“Why the  _ hell  _ do you need to lock us in?”

Jon shrugged. “Just as a precaution. We don’t want you accidentally running into danger while we’re not around to help.”

“We’ll all just go home, we’ll be fine.”

“Nope.” Martin reached behind the desk, grabbing the bottle that was waiting there. “You’re all going to give us your keys, and in return-” he proffered the bottle, “-we’re giving you alcohol. And boardgames, but those are still in the drawer.”

Young Jon glared at him, but Martin could see his resolve weakening. Much as he liked to pretend to be a solitary person, he was actually forming pretty close friendships with his assistants this time around. A night in playing boardgames and getting drunk with friends was a  _ very  _ tempting offer.

He stepped forward quickly, snatching the bottle from Martin. “Fine,” he spat out. “But if anyone suggests playing truth or dare, I’m breaking the front doors down and getting out of here, worms or no.”

~~~~~

The basement window was ajar, just as Martin had told him it would be. It was strange to be in a place so familiar and yet so foreign; Jon had never actually  _ been  _ to Carlos Vittery’s flat before, but he’d heard it described by both Martin and Vittery himself, and it was exactly as he had pictured.

Jon watched the sidewalk carefully as he made his way over. The streetlights provided enough illumination to see any worms that might be lurking (he hoped) but he still gripped the fire extinguisher tightly in his hands, knuckles whitening on the metal. There were another half-dozen in the bag on his back, weighing him down.

_ “Okay, I’m in.”  _ Martin's voice came from the small bluetooth earpiece he wore. He’d gone through the front door of the building to reach the basement from the other side. He’d always been better at picking locks than Jon.

“Can you find the basement door?” Jon kneeled as he spoke, pulling out the plastic sheet he’d had tucked up his sleeve. He spread it over the window, taping it in place.

_ “Yeah, just sealing the cracks now.”  _ His voice was faint over the headset; both of them were speaking softly, careful not to alert the woman they knew was hiding below.

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Jon secured the plastic, making sure there were no gaps around the edges for worms to wriggle out of, then cut a small hole, just big enough to fit the nozzle of an extinguisher through. He pulled the others out of his bag, setting them on the ground within easy reaching distance.

_ “Jon?” _

“I’m here.”

_ “I’ve got the door sealed, and I’m unscrewing the doorknob now. I’ll get an extinguisher into the gap as soon as I can, but I’m not going to be able to stop the handle on the basement side from falling. She’ll hear.” _

“Give me a countdown. I’m ready to go whenever you need me to.”

_ “Okay.”  _ There was a rush of static down the line as Martin let out a breath.  _ “Three.”  _ Jon worked the nozzle of the extinguisher into the hole.  _ “Two.”  _ He placed one finger in the pin, holding it steady with his other hand, and…  _ “One.” _

There was a clatter from inside the basement, presumably of a doorknob bouncing down a flight of stairs. Jon pulled the pin, grabbed the trigger, and sprayed.

Movement from the basement: that sickening, squirming wriggle that haunted his nightmares.

“Martin, you hearing this?”

_ “Yeah. Keep spraying, we need to flood this place.” _

Jon wasn’t going to argue with that. He kept the extinguisher in place until it ran out, then swiftly switched it for another. There were cries of pain coming from the basement now, but he didn’t flinch; through the earpiece, he could hear Martin breathing hard.

Keep spraying; switch extinguishers, pull the pin; keep spraying…

Jon’s fingers were getting sore when the scream finally came. He jumped, nearly losing his grip on the extinguisher, then refocused. Not long now. Lights started flicking on in the building overhead.

The scream trailed off. Jon kept spraying.

_ “How long, do you think?” _

“As long as we can. I’m on my last extinguisher; you?”

_ “Yeah. People are waking up, though. I don’t want to get caught.” _

“That’s your call. Stay as long as you think it’s safe.”

A few minutes later Martin came around the edge of the building, making his way over to Jon. He was sweaty and disheveled, hair sticking up at odd angles. He’d left the extinguishers behind, as they’d planned. It had been awkward enough carrying them here; no point in slowing themselves down trying to get them away again.

Jon set the extinguisher down, flexing his hands to try to get some feeling back into his fingers.

“Time to go?”

“Yeah.” Martin offered him a hand up. Jon groaned as he stood, bending down again to brace his hands on his knees. He’d been kneeling on the concrete for almost thirty minutes, and it  _ hurt. _

“Do you ever just... start to feel really old, all of a sudden?”

Martin laughed. “Oh, don’t complain, you’re younger than I am. Come on, let’s go.”

Jon grabbed Martin’s hand when they reached the sidewalk, and swung it between them as they walked. For all anyone glancing down from one of those lit windows would know, they were just a happy couple, out for an evening stroll. 

They phoned the ECDC as soon as they were out of view, leaving an anonymous tip that Jane Prentiss had been spotted in the building. Then they went home.


	7. Denial and Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 2016

Someone had left a jar of ashes on Jon’s desk. He was pretty sure it had been Sims. Possibly Blackwood. He wished he knew why.

He used a pencil to carefully shove it to the edge of the desk, then pushed it over into the wastebin.

Having them here was… well, it was weird, was what it was. He’d almost gotten used to having Sims around, but then Blackwood had shown up and…

Well. It was weird.

They were  _ married. _

They were married, and Jon kept walking in on them kissing, or holding hands, or laughing over some inside joke, or…

And it was  _ weird.  _

Because it was him. And Martin. Only not him and Martin, except  _ definitely  _ him and Martin, and it was putting some ideas in his head that he  _ definitely  _ didn’t want there, about him, and Martin, and kissing and holding hands and laughing and-

And it didn’t help that things were actually… really good, between him and Martin. Ever since Jon had started to make an effort to get to know him, to  _ appreciate  _ the role he played in Jon’s life, they were… well, friends. Really good friends. He was friends with Tim and Sasha too, but it was different. He’d even go so far as to say Martin was rapidly becoming his best friend.

So it was  _ really fucking weird  _ to have their future selves around holding hands in the corridors and going home with each other every night, and  _ really fucking uncomfortable  _ that they were obviously trying to push Jon and Martin into a relationship with each other.

Martin blushed and stuttered every time he noticed what Sims and Blackwood were doing, and Jon probably would find his reaction funny if it didn’t hurt, a little. The idea that Martin was  _ that  _ uncomfortable with the idea of being with him… it hurt, for reasons Jon didn’t want to examine too closely.

He pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to drive away that train of thought. It was just… jealousy. Not that Sims had Blackwood, no. Just that he had  _ someone.  _ It had been a long time since Jon had someone. And the other thoughts… well, Martin was an attractive man. It was just an objective fact, Jon refused to be embarrassed about thinking it. Tim was attractive too, and Sasha, though neither of them were really his type. Martin… Jon hadn’t thought he was his type, but he wasn’t going to fight the thought now. There was nothing wrong with complimenting your friends’ appearances.

Not that he’d ever say that to Martin’s face, god no. Sims and Blackwood had ensured that any compliments of that nature would be significantly misconstrued.

It was so  _ fucking  _ weird having them around.

~~~~~

Martin was going to make tea. It had gotten a lot simpler, in the month or so since Blackwood had shown up. He was down to four mugs again, not up to six, since Blackwood handled the tea for both himself and Sims. Sometimes he would make an extra mug for Martin, putting in a little extra sugar the way he always liked but never let himself indulge in. Martin wanted to protest that he didn’t need to, but at the same time…

It was really nice. Being cared for. By someone who knew  _ exactly  _ what he needed. He chuckled to himself.  _ I guess this is what they mean by self-care. _

He had been expecting things to be weird with Blackwood, like they were between Jon and Sims, and yeah, okay, it  _ was  _ weird that Blackwood and Sims were married, but… well, he just got on really well with himself. Blackwood had sat him down and given him a hell of a lot of advice about his mother, too, and while it certainly didn’t fix anything… it was nice talking to someone who truly understood.

Also, he was chipping in on the medical bills, and Martin’s bank account was healthier than it had been in years.

He poked his head around the door of the assistants’ office to see if Tim and Sasha were in. Instead he found Blackwood, glaring at something on his desk.

“Hold still, now, just a second…” He was reaching for a file, and Martin realized with a start that he was talking to a spider on the desk. He grabbed the file, raising it over the spider. It  _ smacked  _ down onto the desk, making Martin jump, but the spider had skittered out of the way.

“Oh, don’t you run away, you little bastard!”

Martin watched in shock as Blackwood raised the file over his head again, preparing to bring it down in a final, crushing blow against the small arachnid. Out of nowhere a hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Martin, wait!”

Blackwood didn’t even flinch at the sudden grip, simply looking over his shoulder with a frown. “Jon, what’s wrong?"

Sims released him, giving him an earnest look. “It’s 2016, remember? Spiders are just… normal. You don’t have to kill it.”

Blackwood’s eyebrows shot up. “Are  _ you  _ seriously telling  _ me  _ not to kill a spider?”

“I know, I hardly believe it either.” Sims smiled. “But you’d remember about the time change eventually and I know you’d feel bad.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet of you.” He still hesitated. “Are you sure, though? The Web was following us for… a while.”

Sims pointed at the spider, giving Blackwood a disbelieving look. “Martin. Does that  _ really  _ look like a manifestation of an evil fear entity to you?”

The spider scuttled forward a few inches, waving its mandibles in the air. Blackwood tilted his head to the side. “No. No it does not.”

Sims patted him on the back. “Right. I’ll fetch a jar.”

Martin left them to it, shaking his head. He could not  _ imagine  _ Jon stopping him from killing a spider. It was intensely disconcerting to think he had just seen it happen.

Good to know they weren’t worried about the Web, though. Ever since Martin had realized  _ why  _ Jon was afraid of spiders he’d been a little more wary of them himself.

He texted Tim and Sasha when he got to the breakroom, and within a minute got a response back that they were on a case - chasing after a lead for yet another false statement. He put their mugs back in the cabinet. After a moment’s thought, he pulled down Blackwood’s and Sims’ instead.

He didn’t really miss making tea for Sims. He would have thought he would, but… well. Any time he tried to work up a little jealousy for what he and Blackwood had, it was washed away by just how happy they were together. Sure, he was jealous that he couldn’t have it with his  _ own  _ Jon, but he wasn’t jealous of  _ them. _

He wished they’d stop trying to get him and Jon together, though. Jon always looked  _ really  _ uncomfortable any time they tried, and that hurt, and also he just didn’t want his friend to be uncomfortable. Also, he turned into a blushing mess every time, and one of these days Jon was going to notice and realize Martin had fallen for him,  _ hard. _

That wouldn’t be good. Being friends was great; Jon realizing that his friend was hopelessly pining over him would probably ruin everything.

The water boiled, and Martin made four mugs of tea in two identical sets of two. Then he added an extra half-spoon of sugar to Blackwood’s. Then, after a moment’s consideration, one to his own, as well.

Blackwood and Sims were heading for the front doors with the spider in a jar when Martin passed them, and they both smiled wide and thanked him for the tea. He left it on their desk for when they got back.

Then he brought his own and Jon’s mugs to Jon’s office, and got a small, but very sincere, smile from him as well. And when he asked Martin to hold back a minute, because there was something in the most recent statement he needed to go over with him, Martin smiled too, settling in across the desk from his friend. And yes, his heart was skipping beats every time Jon looked at him, and yes, he wanted to kiss him, and yes, he was hopelessly head over heels for this man.

But they were also friends. And for now, at least, that was enough.

~~~~~+

“Uh… anyone know where Sims and Blackwood disappeared to?” Tim asked.

Jon turned to him, frowning. “No, do you need them?”

“Just got a new box of statements to sort through, I was hoping Sims could check that none of them were, you know…” he wiggled his fingers. “Spooky.”

“I think Blackwood said they were going into the tunnels?” This was from Sasha, sitting next to Jon. They were all in the assistants’ office, Tim and Martin working on their own cases and Jon and Sasha sharing a computer as they puzzled through at least ten different statements that all seemed to have come in from one group of drunk university students over Halloween in the nineties. It wasn’t exactly gripping work.

“Wait, the spooky murder tunnels?” Martin glanced up from his computer. Jon frowned at him over the wording, but he just grinned back. Jon ignored the way his heart skipped a beat at that.

“Yeah, something about finding someone down there? I don’t know, he was in a bit of a rush.”

“So we’re all agreed that those two are dead cool, right?” Tim again, pushing his box to the side and raising his eyebrows. “Like, post-apocalyptic action-hero cool.”

“Weird, more like,” Jon snorted. Sasha elbowed him.

“Hey, it’s your future you’re insulting. I’m with Tim. They’re just… so pulled together. Like, one day they’re casually stopping the worm monster that’s been haunting London for  _ two years,  _ and the next they’re checking out paint samples deciding what color to repaint their kitchen. No hesitation, no self doubt, just so confident they can do anything.”

Martin chuckled. “I think that’s called being a functioning adult.”

_ “Ohhhh…”  _ Tim said. “No wonder I can’t relate.”

Sasha threw a pencil at him. “Still weird that they’re married, though.”

Jon winced, turning back to the computer and pretending to type something. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Martin turning bright red.

“Right?” Tim tossed the pencil back. “It’d be like if  _ our  _ future selves came back and you were a supervillain, Sash. Like, I’m sure you’d be good at it, but how the hell did we get from here to there?”

“I’d be an  _ excellent  _ supervillain,” Sasha nodded, pleased.

“And from what I’ve seen, they make an  _ excellent  _ couple.”

“Can we not talk about this, please?” Martin’s voice was strained. Tim grinned.

“Oh, is this making you uncomfortable? I can’t  _ imagine  _ why.”

_ “Tim.” _

“Fine, fine.” He waved a hand. “Look, it’s a bit weird even as an outsider, okay? I’m on your side about that.”

“We both are.” Sasha patted Jon’s shoulder. He gave her a small smile. “I’ve honestly been trying to think of them as completely different people. It helps make it seem a little more normal.”

“Agreed.” Tim, Jon, and Martin spoke the word in unison. There was a moment of startled silence.

_ “Jinx!”  _ Just Tim and Martin, this time, but it was enough to send all four into peels of helpless laughter, and the tension of the moment was broken.

Blackwood and Sims reappeared an hour later, strolling back into the assistants’ office with dust on their clothes and identical pleased smiles. Sims was carrying a book.

“Mission accomplished,” he said, setting it down. “Though we didn’t manage to convince him to leave the tunnels, so we’ve still got an uninvited guest down there.”

Jon frowned at the book. It looked old, and battered. “What’s that?”

_ “The Seven Lamps of Architecture,”  _ Blackwood said. “Don’t try to read it. It will kill you.”

Martin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Is that a  _ Leitner?” _

Sims nodded.

“And the, ah, blood on it?”

Blackwood clapped a hand over his mouth. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. Sims gave him a strange look, then turned back to Martin. “Wine stain. Its previous owner wasn’t always the most careful fellow.”

“Oh.” Martin looked relieved.

Tim spoke up. “So who exactly  _ is  _ living down there?”

“Unfortunately, he made us swear not to tell anyone. All I’m able to say is that it was no coincidence that he was carrying this book.” Sims raised his eyebrows significantly. Blackwood elbowed him.

“Jon, are you  _ trying  _ to give it away? Because that was  _ so  _ obvious.”

“Oh, hush.” He turned to leave the room. “Come on, we should go clean up.”

Sasha waited a moment after they left before blurting out: “Do you mean to tell me we’ve got  _ Jurgen Leitner _ living under the Institute?”

“That… certainly seems to be what they were implying.” Jon’s voice came out faint. He was staring at the book on the table, memories of  _ his  _ first Leitner creeping up on him. Then: “W-wait, Martin, no, don’t  _ touch  _ it!”

“I was just having a look!” Martin froze with his hand poised over the book. Jon scrambled out from behind Sasha’s desk.

“Well, don’t, you heard what they said! It’s dangerous!”

“I wasn’t going to  _ read  _ it!” Martin reached for it again.

“You might not have to!” Instinctively, Jon reached out, grabbing Martin’s hands in both of his own. “Just- stop trying to touch the cursed book!”

“Oh, come on Jon, Sims was holding it no problem.” He tugged at his hands. Jon gripped them even tighter.

“Poke it with a pencil or something if you’re curious!”

“I’m not going to examine a  _ cursed book  _ with a  _ pencil-” _

He was interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat behind them. Jon was suddenly very aware of the way they were standing, face to face, practically holding hands. Martin quickly stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“See? Not touching it.” Then he turned to face the room. “Yes, Tim?”

Tim and Sasha were both watching them with highly amused expressions. Sasha rolled her eyes, turning back to the computer, and Tim just shook his head.

“Nothing. Just looked a bit like you’d forgotten we were here.”

Jon flushed. He  _ had  _ forgotten.

“Right. Well… I’m going to… go back to work, then, if you don’t need me,” Martin stammered, and headed for his desk.

Jon pointedly ignored Tim’s huge grin and wink as he did the same.

~~~~~

There was someone in the room with him. Martin turned, expecting Tim or Sasha - they had said they’d be in in a minute to help him shift another load of boxes to their office - but instead there was…

“Oh, I’m sorry, this archive is off limits. Are you looking for something? I can show you back up to the Institute proper.”

The man smiled. He had a nice smile, open and friendly, but the rest of his appearance… well, Martin couldn’t blame himself for being a little startled.

The man was dressed like a sailor. Like,  _ comically  _ so.

He had the long, heavy coat, the thick waterproof boots, the flat-topped cap with the brim hanging over his face. Under the coat was a cabled woolen sweater, and Martin half-expected him to be smoking a pipe. The lower half of his face was covered in a thick beard and mustache, and the skin around his eyes had the weathered and leathery quality movie directors were always giving to salty old sea dogs. The only thing that contradicted the look was how pale he was, skin and clothes both, like an old photograph bleached after being left too long in the sun.

“Oh, no, I know where I am just fine.” Martin jumped again when the man spoke. He would have expected his voice to be a haggered growl, but… it was downright cheerful. “Martin, isn’t it? I’ve heard so much about you.”

That struck a note of fear in Martin’s chest. Sims had told him to watch out for a sailor, hadn’t he? Blackwood had given him more details after he arrived. “Oh. You’re- you’re him, aren’t you? Lukas?”

The man looked surprised. “Yes, I’m- Peter, pleased to meet you! Now, how did you know that?”

“I… same way you’ve heard about me, I’d presume. Secondhand.”

_ “Right.”  _ Lukas nodded, seeming satisfied. “Anyway, I just thought I’d come down and meet the team, you know? I’ve heard there’s some  _ very  _ interesting things going on down h-”

He was cut off as Blackwood and Sims came barreling through the door, practically bouncing off the frame in their rush to get between Lukas and Martin. They placed themselves side by side in front of him, standing shoulder to shoulder and glaring at Lukas.

_ “Peter,”  _ Sims spat out. Martin was shocked at how much condensed rage there was in that voice. “What are you doing here?”

Lukas frowned. “Are you the Archivist Elias has been telling me so much about, then? My, you  _ are  _ coming along fast.”

“We’re from the future.” Martin hadn’t known how much hatred his own voice could hold. “Now answer his question.”

“Time travelers?” His eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing under the brim of his cap. “Now that  _ is  _ interesting. Explains…  _ that,  _ though.” He flicked a finger between Martin and Blackwood. “As for what I’m doing here, I have a meeting with Elias. Budget concerns, I’m sure you understand. He asked me to check in on the team beforehand, just so I can get a… a real  _ feel  _ for what goes on around here.”

Sims’ hands were clenched into fists. “Well, you can tell M-  _...Elias  _ that he needn’t bother in the future. His  _ threats  _ won’t work on us.”

“Threats?” Lukas smiled. “Oh, this isn’t a threat. Not yet.”

Martin shivered. Was there a breeze down here? The air was turning cool. And… maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there seemed to be a low fog rising over the floor.

“Stop it!” Blackwood’s voice was slightly muffled. Martin watched him reach out, grabbing Sims’ hand. Neither of them looked scared, though. Just angry.

“Stop what? The Archivist was the one looking for a threat.”

“You don’t want to cross me.” Sims’ voice was low and calm. He held his head high.

“Whyever not?”

“Because I’m from the future.  _ Your  _ future.” He took a step forward, not letting go of Blackwood’s hand. “Did you not wonder why Elias didn’t simply deal with me himself? He  _ knows  _ he can’t. And you can’t, either.” The fog was thickening. “I’ve seen your life. I’ve seen your death. The only reason  _ Elias”  _ \- he said the name in such a tone that Martin almost expected him to put air quotes around it - “sent you to us is because he doesn’t care if you die. He certainly didn’t last time.”

Lukas grimaced. Whether or not he trusted the rest of Sims’ speech,  _ that  _ part he believed wholeheartedly.

“So leave. Go to your budget meeting. And tell Elias that if he’s got a problem with us, he should come down here and face us  _ himself.” _

“Fair enough.” The fog started to drain from the rest of the room, piling around his feet. “I have no reasons to get involved in whatever little soap opera you’ve got going on down here. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go have a word with Elias about wasting my time.” The fog rose to cover him in a grey, misty pillar, and when it faded he was gone.

Blackwood let out a breath. “Large sections of that conversation were  _ disturbingly  _ familiar.”

“Really?” Sims asked.

“Yeah. Bastard.” Then he shook himself, dropping Sims’ hand and turning to Martin. “Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, or anything?”

“No.” Martin shrugged. “He wasn’t here long before you guys showed up.”

“Good.” Both of them stepped forward in unison, trapping Martin in a double hug. He stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into it. Sims’ hugs were - like they always were, like Jon’s hugs always were - amazing, and Martin was thrilled to find his own were just as comforting as he’d always hoped.

“If he ever traps you alone again,” Blackwood said, “just remember you have people that care about you. Think about us, about your Jon, about Tim and Sasha. You’re never truly alone. And as long as you’re not alone, he can’t hurt you.”

Sims clapped him on the back as he pulled away. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that, though. I’m pretty sure I just scared the shit out of him.”

Martin laughed at the same time as Blackwood did. The sound was identical.

“Thank you,” he said. “For… whatever it was you guys just did. Now… have you seen Tim and Sasha? They were supposed to be helping me.”

~~~~~

Martin was off investigating a case, so Jon had to make his own tea. It was… fine. Martin had left a little sticky note on his desk with instructions for it and a little smiley face, which… well, it wasn’t  _ necessary  _ \- he’d made a note of his own after Martin had shown him, and really, you forget how you take your tea  _ one time  _ and you never live it down - but it was the sort of passive-aggressive teasing that Jon had come to adore.

Ad...mire. Not adore. He  _ admired  _ his  _ friend’s  _ sense of humor.

Right.

Regardless, he was passing by the assistant’s office on his way to the breakroom when he heard Martin’s name from inside, in his own voice. He paused, stopping in the doorway to see what was going on.

Tim and Sims were standing by one of the desks, going through a stack of files. Tim had paused with a file in his hands, grinning, while Sims… oh, god. He was talking about Blackwood.

“...and  _ I  _ thought it was some sort of threat, you know, ‘set foot in these Archives and you’ll pay,’ while  _ he  _ was just watching me practically fainting on the doorstep, two weeks out from getting eaten by worms, and worrying that he was going to have to carry me home.” Sims laughed. “I was  _ such  _ an idiot. I can’t believe he still liked me after that.”

Tim shook his head, chuckling. "When  _ did  _ you two end up getting together, if you don’t mind me asking?  _ That  _ seems a far cry from where you are now."

"Well, it…" Sims actually blushed, looking away. "It wasn't until shortly before the apocalypse, actually. Years later."

"Ah, I get it. Last chance, desperate," Tim waggled his eyebrows in a fairly suggestive manner,  _ "getting together,  _ as it were?"

Sims gave him an odd look. “Tim, I’m asexual.”

“Oh.” Tim blinked, then shrugged. “Sorry mate, no offence meant. I didn’t know.”

“None taken.” Sims smiled, turning around to move a file and noticing Jon standing in the doorway. The smile slipped. “You alright, Jon? You look… ill.”

Jon became aware that his mouth was hanging open, and he felt a bit light-headed. If past experience were any judge, his face was completely bloodless with shock. “Y-you’re  _ what?” _ He grabbed the doorframe for support. “What did you just say?”

Sims looked at him in concern. “I’m asexual? It’s not that big of a-” Then his eyes widened. “You don’t know yet…” he breathed.

Jon gripped the doorframe even harder. “What the  _ hell  _ are you talking about?”

“Tim, can you give us a moment?” Sims spoke over his shoulder, eyes not leaving Jon’s face. “Jon, I think you should come over here and sit down. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not-” Tim shot him a raised eyebrow as he left. Jon sighed, giving in.  _ “Fine.” _

He stalked over, slumping into the chair Sims pulled up for him – Blackwood’s, he noted absently. Sims sat across from him in his own and leaned forward.

“Okay. I’ll admit, I don’t exactly remember where I was at with the whole identity thing back in- back now. I kind of had other things on my mind. So we’ll start with the basics: do you know what asexuality is?”

Jon huffed, crossing his arms. “Obviously.  _ I’m  _ not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me.” Sims grinned, and Jon glared at him. “Okay, okay, fine. And you’re aware of your own boundaries when it comes to intimate physical contact.”

The blood came rushing back to Jon’s face, leaving his cheeks burning.  _ “Is that really any of your business?” _ he hissed.

“Well, yes. I’m you. But I’ll take that as a yes.” Sims was infuriatingly calm. “Your reaction to my comment to Tim was rather strong; I’m going to assume you know that most people don’t react like we do to the prospect of seeing our partner undressed.”

_ “I am not asex-” _

"Whoa.” Sims held up a hand to cut off the furious whisper. “At least tell me you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re bi.”

Jon let out a breath, trying to get himself back under control. He knew – he  _ knew  _ – he was overreacting, it wasn’t that big of a deal that he didn’t- that he was- He nodded tersely. “Yes, I’ve known that for years.”

“Good.” Sims smiled. “I thought that was one I’d figured out in uni; wanted to check, though.” He tilted his head to the side, considering. “You know, I don’t think I was ever as opposed to the idea of being ace as you seem to be. Did something happen, since I came back?”

“I’m not…” Jon trailed off. “Look, I’ve considered it, okay? I did a whole bunch of research after me and Georgie split – she’s the one that introduced me to the term. But I am  _ not  _ asexual. I just- just haven’t met the right person yet, I’m sure when I do-”

“Shit.” Jon stopped talking at the sudden understanding in Sims’ eyes, waiting for him to continue. Sims took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Okay. Yes, you’re right. I –  _ we  _ – did a lot of research after Georgie. I pushed it all to the back of my head, didn’t even  _ begin  _ to consider it again until Martin and I had been together for- for a while.” Jon felt that same jolt in his chest as he always did at the reminder of the relationship between his and Martin’s future selves. “I already had stability, companionship. I knew it wasn’t going to impact our relationship. I could explore… safely. And when I was  _ your  _ age…” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Relationships were the last thing on my mind. I wasn’t identifying as ace, but it wouldn’t have scared me. I was okay with…” Sudden pity filled his eyes. “Oh Jon… you’re not going to be alone forever. Certainly not because of _ this." _

Jon’s first instinct was to react to that with violent denial – he was  _ happy  _ alone, he wasn’t  _ scared  _ of staying that way – but something held him back. He took a moment to sort his thoughts before speaking. “I… I know that. Logically, I know that. But it’s hard to accept it, emotionally, when the messages you’ve been fed your entire life say differently.” He met Sims’ eyes, sighing. “And it never bothered me before. But since you’ve been here – especially since Blackwood showed up – seeing how happy you two are together, the thought that I might never…”

Sims waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, he offered a gentle: “But shouldn’t that give you hope? It’s not been a problem for me. Ever.”

“But not everyone is like Blackwood. Like- like Martin.” That same throb in his chest; that same mix of hope and fear. “I can’t expect… what you’ve got.”

“There’s more than one Martin in the world.” Sims was smiling at that; Jon shook his head, speaking past the tightness in his throat.

“Martin isn’t- he and I aren’t…” He sighed. “Martin and I are not Blackwood and you. Not anymore. You changed the course of our lives, and we’re not… you.”

Sims took a breath, then hesitated. When he spoke, it was with caution. “I know you’re not… well. Just don’t dismiss the idea entirely, is all I’m saying. Even if you don’t currently have feelings for him.” He sighed, shoulders slumping in perfect mimicry of Jon’s. “But what I’m saying is broader than that. There’s more than one person  _ like  _ Martin in the world, who will accept you as you are without a second thought, be utterly baffled by the idea that you ever thought it would be a problem.”

“I know. Logically, I know.” Sims didn’t try to argue him on that one again. They both knew well enough that  _ knowing  _ and  _ believing  _ were two entirely different matters. He did, however, reach out to put a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Just don’t give up hope, okay? And-” He grimaced. “I’m sorry for outing you to Tim. I’ve never bothered to hide this about myself, and our situation makes it a bit… awkward."

“It’s fine.” Jon shrugged off the hand. “I don’t mind if he and Sasha know, or… or Martin. They’re good people.”

Sims nodded, shifting in preparation to stand. “Good. You feeling any better? You’re not about to faint, at least.”

“Yeah.” Jon stood too. “Yeah, I- I actually am.” He was surprised to find that it was true. It wasn’t like the issue had been at the forefront of his mind, but being able to talk it over with someone who actually  _ understood… _ It was like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Even if it was still, quite frankly, terrifying, and he didn’t want it to be true… it was kind of hard to deny a fundamental part of who he was when his future self was shoving it in his face with absolute certainty.

Especially when it fit so well.

They dragged the chairs back to their places, and Sims returned to the file he had been about to look through before he noticed Jon. Jon took a moment to steady himself, taking a few deep breaths to calm his heartbeat. Then he resumed his walk to the breakroom, intent on getting his tea.


	8. Spirals and Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 31 and all of April 2016

“March 31,” Martin said. “You know what that means.”

“Last minute preparations for pranks for tomorrow?” Tim grinned at him across the office.

“Nope.” Martin sat back in his chair. It was still weird, sitting on this side of the room. He was used to being where his young self was now, tucked away in the corner. Still, at least it wasn’t as big a change as Jon going from a personal office to a group space. “Means Sasha’s running late for work.”

“What?” The younger Martin glanced up from his work. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, don’t scare them.” Jon rolled his eyes. Thanks to the new arrangements, he was sitting right next to Martin at their shared desk. It was worth the odd angle on the room, Martin figured. “Sasha’s fine, she knows who to look out for.”

“And who is that?” Tim again.

“Difficult question to answer. I’m honestly still not sure if he’s a who or a what.”

Martin elbowed him. “Now who’s scaring them?”

Jon waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. We can handle it.”

“Are you going to lock us all in the Archives again overnight?” Martin wondered if his past self knew how openly hopeful his face looked. They hadn’t told Jon and Martin what had happened that night they took down Jane Prentiss, but the entire young staff had been fast asleep on a pile of blankets and pillows in the assistants’ office by the time they let them out in the morning, and they were all hungover. Not even young Jon had complained.

Jon shrugged. “We can if you like. We were just going to suggest staying until seven to keep Sasha company until it’s safe for her to go home.”

“Done.” Tim shot finger guns at young Martin, then pointed his thumbs at himself. “You get the food, I’ll get the drinks.” He paused, head tilted to the side. “You convince Jon to join us, too, you’re more likely to be able to actually get him to stop working.”

However young Martin would have responded, he was cut off by the office door being flung open. Sasha strode into the room, over to her desk, and dropped her bag with a flourish. Then she spun to face them.

“You would not  _ believe  _ the morning I’ve had,” She began.

Jon raised his hand. “Actually, I think I-”

“Nope.” She cut him off. “You said to look out for a guy with blond hair and sharp hands. Not…  _ that.”  _

Tim was riveted. “Oh,  _ do  _ go on.”

_ “Well-” _

“Wait!” Jon stood quickly. “I shouldn’t hear this. All I need to know is if it went the same as it did before. You saw him at the flower shop, and then in the cafe?”

“Yeah.” Sasha nodded.

“Splendid.” Jon started moving for the door. “Then I’m going to leave before this story turns into a statement.”

“I’m going to go with him,” Martin stood as well, smiling. “We still need to do some last minute planning for tonight.”

Jon waited for him by the door. As they left, they could hear Sasha enthusiastically launching into her tale.

Martin hurried over to the Head Archivist’s office, poking his head around the door. 

“Might want to head to the assistants’ office, Sasha’s in full flow and I don’t think you want to miss this.” He stepped back before young Jon could respond. His Jon was shaking his head, laughing slightly. “What?”

“Nothing, really.” They started walking. “I suppose I’m just thinking about how  _ I  _ would have responded to that. I certainly wouldn’t have-” he paused as footsteps crossed the hall, and the noise from the assistants’ office rose briefly and then fell as the door was opened and shut again, “-done  _ that.” _

“Well, you’ve been a good influence on yourself.”

Jon smiled. “I suppose I have.”

The day passed fairly quietly. None of the young staff objected to staying late, and Sasha was more excited by her encounter than scared. Soon enough it was half past six, and the sun was going down.

Sasha had given them directions to the cafe, and they found it without any trouble. The lights were on. The door was open. There was no one behind the counter. There was one customer, drinking a coffee.

Jon didn’t wait for the car that they knew would pass by soon, simply striding across the street and entering the cafe without any hesitation. Martin followed, a bit more cautious.

The man gave them a curious look when they sat down across from him. He was tall, blond; ordinary. Martin had seen this version of Michael only briefly, as he taunted him and Tim in the tunnels under the Institute - he was much more familiar with the way he stretched, bending, twisting, and distorting as he began to laugh, chasing them into those impossible corridors.

He shook the memory away. He was safe. Tim was safe. That was never going to happen.

“Archivist,” Michael said, finally. “I take it you are the reason the flesh-hive is no longer with us.”

“Correct.” Jon nodded. He didn’t offer his name. He didn’t ask for Michael’s. “Is Timothy Hodge still a threat?”

“He died with the hive.” Michael’s head tilted at far too steep an angle, and he regarded Martin with an unreadable expression. “Are you the Archivist’s assistant? You’ll want to be careful of that.”

“I’m his husband.” Martin kept his voice steady. Jon had told him about Michael Shelley, and Gertrude, and the Great Twisting. He didn’t know whether his fear of Michael, or his sorrow for Michael Shelley, was stronger. “He’s not like Gertrude.”

“Well,” said Michael, and fell silent. One of his fingers traced a spiraling pattern across the table.

Jon didn’t say anything, and neither did Martin. He wasn’t here to talk; Jon was the one who knew which buttons to press, which weaknesses to exploit so that Michael would stay away from the Archives. The only reason Martin was here was that they had promised to do these things together.

And as moral support. The various versions of the Distortion had a history of taking large chunks out of Jon’s self-esteem.

After a few minutes Michael took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. “Why are you here, Archivist?” His voice was soft, almost sad. “It seems you already know my story.”

“I’m here to make a deal.” Jon’s voice was quiet as well. Almost… tender. Martin might be torn between fear and sorrow, but he knew which had won the day for Jon. “I am the Archivist. But I am the Archivist from the future. Like you said, I know your story. Where it began… and how it ends.”

“What is your deal?” There was no bite to the words. Just curiosity.

“Stay away from the Archives. Stay away from the Institute. Stay away from anyone who works there. Promise me that, and I will tell you how to stop your story ending.”

Martin bit his tongue. Jon was being a bit misleading, here - saving Helen was their  _ main  _ goal in confronting Michael, but making it sound like saving her was in his favor… it was very clever.

“Archivists don’t keep their promises.”

“This one does.”

Michael stared at him for another moment. “You say you are from the future. How did you return, if my story ended?”

“Another’s took your place.”

“Oh.” His eyes dropped. Then he looked at Martin. “Do you trust him?”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand under the table. “I know you will tell me not to.”

Michael’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do. You. Trust. Him.”

“Yes. But more than that, I know him.” Martin glanced at Jon, smiling. His eyes were fixed on the table, a fond smile edging onto his face. “I’ve seen this Archivist risk his life to save mine dozens of times. I’ve seen him risk it to save dozens of people. One of the main reasons we came to the past was to save his other assistants - our other friends. So yes, I trust him.” He looked back at Michael. “And you should too. Like I said, he’s not Gertrude.”

Another quiet moment, Michael’s eyes fixed on Martin… then he nodded.

“I believe you will regret this, assistant. But I will not harm the Institute, nor those that work there.” His gaze flicked back to Jon. “Now, tell me how I end.”

“There’s a woman named Helen Richardson,” Jon said immediately. “She’s a real estate agent. She’s soon going to be selling a house on Saint Albans Avenue. The first time around, you took her into your corridors. She escaped, was led to the Magnus Institute by… well, someone I have already had a word with. Then you took her again, right from my office. She survived, and eventually she…  _ became  _ you. I was there, when it happened. You were outside your door, and couldn’t get back in. When she opened it, from the inside… you were gone.”

“I was locked out?” Michael’s face was hard to read, but Martin could swear there was fear in his eyes.

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Archivist. I will avoid this Richardson. Now promise me something in return.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “I have completed my end of the deal.”

_ “Promise  _ me.” Michael reached across the table, seizing Jon’s hand. Martin jumped, prepared to fight if Jon was bleeding - but his hand wasn’t cut. He just looked slightly uncomfortable as Michael’s fingers covered his. “Or I’ll add the Institute back to my hunting grounds.”

“What promise do you wish me to make?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t betray your assistants.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Well, obviously.”

_ “Promise.”  _ Michael’s hand tightened.

“I promise!” Jon yanked his hand away. “Christ, I married one of them, do you really think I’m lying?”

Martin couldn’t help it; he laughed. Michael sat back, regarding them cooly.

“I am done here, Archivist. Be aware that I am aware of you, now. And keep your promises.” He stood, glaring at them one last time, and left. The lights in the cafe flickered off as soon as he was gone.

“Well, that went well,” Martin said. Jon shuddered.

“Sasha wasn’t kidding about his hands. That was… disturbing.”

“Come on,” Martin stood, tugging on his shoulder. “Stop complaining. We did it, ticked another box. We can go celebrate now.”

“True.” Jon stood as well, placing a kiss to Martin’s cheek as he did so. “Well done, ‘assistant.’”

“You weren’t so bad yourself, ‘Archivist.’”

The cafe door locked behind them.

~~~~~

The Institute was quiet on the weekends. Jon had forgotten how peaceful it was. Still technically open, but with a skeleton staff. The upper floors echoed with each solitary set of footsteps, and the Archives were shrouded with a quiet hush.

Well. He’d seen it quieter. But it wasn’t nearly as peaceful when the quiet was due to all of its occupants having fled or died.

He shook his head, driving away the thought. Today was not the time for horrible memories; today, he was catching up with an old friend.

He flicked on the lights in the Archives as he made his way to the breakroom, driving out the shadows and bringing a sense of life to the place. He was the only one here today: his past self had stopped working weekends shortly after Jon had arrived, and Tim, Sasha, and Martin had only ever come in on special request. Martin - his Martin - had opted to sit out this particular universe-fixing event. There was no danger, after all, and there were rather too many difficult memories it could bring up.

Jon made two mugs of tea and brought them both back to his - young Jon’s, whatever - office. Five minutes later, Melanie arrived.

“Hello?” Her voice carried the underlying frustration it had the first time, pissed off at having to come to the  _ Magnus Institute,  _ of all places, to share her story. “Is anyone down here?”

He flung open the office door with a flourish, stepping out into the hallway.

“Melanie King! Of Ghost Hunt UK fame! Welcome to our humble Archive!”

“Excuse me?” She was frowning, suspicious. “How do you know my name? I didn’t make an appointment.”

Jon grinned. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this.

“I’m a time traveler, and you, Ms. King, are someone I know very well indeed. Care for a cup of tea?”

He stepped back into the office, trusting her curiosity would be strong enough that she would follow. He was right. They sat across the desk from each other, her glaring and him still grinning. It was  _ good  _ to see her.

“Cut the crap. Who are you? I came here to make a statement, not be mocked by some half-rate academic who claims to see the supernatural in every drug-addled dream from some idiot off the street.”

“My name is Jonathan Blackwood.” Not technically true, but he liked shortening it when he could. Both he and Martin had wanted to take each other’s names, and the hyphenation had been the eventual compromise. “You can call me Jon. I’m the Archivist.” A tape recorder clicked on at the edge of the desk. He reached out without looking and clicked it back off. Melanie gave him an odd look, and he smiled reassuringly. “And no, I am not a half-rate academic. I am, as I said, a time traveler. I’d offer you proof, but I lost my old phone in the journey and any photographic evidence I may have had along with it.”

“Convenient,” she snorted. “So, are you going to tell me you’re here to save my life? ‘Come with me if you want to live,’ and all that bullshit?”

“Not quite. More ‘avoid me if you want your life to go well.’”

“Is that a  _ threat?”  _ Melanie’s hands clenched into fists. Jon half expected a knife to appear in her grip.

“No. Just a warning. I can start from the beginning, if you’d like.”

“Oh,  _ please  _ do. I’m sure it’ll be  _ fascinating.” _

“Very well, then. The beginning, I believe, is Georgie Barker.”

Melanie’s face went slack. “What.”

“Georgie? She runs What the Ghost? If I recall correctly from the first time I heard your story, she’s the person who put you in contact with Sarah Baldwin.”

“She is, but how-”

“She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

Melanie fell silent for a moment. Then she burst out laughing.  _ “What? You’re  _ Jon from uni? Georgie’s Jon from uni? With the haircut?”

“Oh god.” Jon covered his face with a hand.  _ “Please  _ tell me she hasn’t shown you pictures.”

“Oh, you’d better believe she has.” She was still laughing. “You look pretty different, but that - okay, that explains  _ all  _ this. I’d believe almost anything of  _ Jon from uni.” _

Jon groaned. He was well aware that his university days had been storied. He  _ hadn’t  _ known that Georgie still regaled her friends with those stories.

“Then will you  _ please  _ believe I’m from the future? Given that, well, I know you’re here to talk about Sarah Baldwin  _ and  _ I’m rather too old to have gone to university with Georgie unless I really have come back in time?”

The laughter trailed off. Melanie bit her lip.

“Look, at the very least you have to admit that time travel is no weirder than a woman reattaching the skin to her arm with a stapler.”

Melanie’s eyes widened, and, slowly, she began to nod. “You may have a point, there. So. You know my story. And you believe it?”

“In every detail.”

“I told it to you before.”

“And I laughed you out of this office.”

She pursed her lips. “Where’s the you from the present, then? The one who  _ would  _ laugh me out?”

“Back at his flat sleeping, I’d imagine. Or more likely working from home.”

“Oh.”

“What?” Jon smiled. “Did you expect him to be ‘conveniently missing’? If I were trying to take his place, I’d be a little more subtle about my own story.”

“True.” Melanie tilted her head back. “So, why  _ are  _ you back? And why bother to come in on a weekend to talk to me when you could have just had me give my story to the researchers?”

“Well, for the first question, I inadvertently started the apocalypse and I came back to try to fix it. As for why I’m talking to you, you managed to get yourself stabbed in a trainyard and shot by a ghost in India the first time around, and I’d prefer to help you avoid that if I can. We did end up becoming friends, hard as that may be to believe.”

“Certainly harder to believe than you starting the apocalypse.” Melanie finally grabbed the tea and took a sip. One eyebrow raised when she tasted it, and Jon bit back another smile. He’d made it exactly the way she had told him she liked it, back when Martin was working for Peter and Jon had taken over the tea-making duties. She slowly set it back on the desk. “Right. So I’ll avoid trainyards and India. Anything else I need to know?”

“I’ve typed it up, actually.” He’d had months to work on this, with Martin’s help. He drew the printed results out of a file on the desk and handed it over. “Feel free to pursue it at your leisure. It’s a comprehensive account of the way the supernatural operates in this world, including signs you should look out for to avoid danger and areas that are still unknown. I’d appreciate if you could share this with Georgie as well. I think there’s some sections in there she’d appreciate knowing.”

Melanie took the document carefully, flipping through the first few pages. “This is… a lot.”

“Yes, well. I’ve encountered a lot. If you decide to feature it on your show I’d ask that you keep my name and story out of it. Same if Georgie wants to put it in her podcast. But I don’t object to you sharing the information around.”

She stopped. “This section is addressed to me.”

“That has a transcript of the three statements you gave about your various encounters over the years. It should help you avoid repeating them. There’s also a letter to Georgie in there, containing… certain information she should know.” It was also a statement transcript, with an explanation of why she had given it. It didn’t feel right to tell Melanie that, though. He didn’t know if Georgie would want her to know about her experience with the End yet.

“Okay.” Melanie took a deep breath.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “It’s just a bit weird, seeing  _ my  _ words when I never wrote them.”

“Try being my past self,” Jon snorted.  _ “He  _ had to find out that I’m married to the man he previously viewed as just his vaguely incompetent assistant.”

Melanie blinked. “One, what? And two, did you just call your husband vaguely incompetent?”

“Oh, no, he’s amazing.” Jon felt a smile spread over his face. Melanie raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “I was just an idiot.”

“Did he come back with you?”

“Yes. Yes, he’s here.” His voice had gone embarrassingly soft. He could see Melanie trying not to laugh.

“Riiiight. Yeah, I can see how that would be awkward for past you. Or- present you. Are you future you?”

“I suppose from your perspective I would be. I’m sure you can see why I don’t consider  _ myself  _ to be ‘future me,’ though.”

“Understandable.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. “So, you and your husband came back from the apocalypse to save the day. You’ve got a guide to the supernatural that you’ve given me free reign to use on my show, tales of horrors I faced in your past, and a mildly traumatized younger version of you who’s had to watch you kiss a guy he doesn’t like. Anything I’m missing?”

Jon shrugged. “Not really. The important stuff is in that document. The only other thing I’d say is… not everything has to be a fight. There’s more details about this in there,” he nodded at the file, “but you were, ah…  _ targeted  _ by something called the Slaughter. It feeds on rage and hatred, and you, well…” he paused. “It’s alright to take the easy road, sometimes. When you reach the top, you don’t have to keep climbing. Just… relax.”

“Seriously? Your big, fate-changing advice is to  _ chill out?” _

“Yes. And don’t ever accept a job at the Magnus Institute. But if you get a chance,  _ do  _ meet Tim Stoker and Sasha James, you never really got the chance before but I think you’d really like them.”

“Anything  _ else?”  _ She sounded exasperated.

“Georgie. You two became… very close, in the future, and I don’t want to mess that up by coming back.”

“I don’t exactly plan on dropping her as a friend.”

“Right.” This was one of the places he and Martin had disagreed most vehemently.  _ He’d  _ argued that they should tell Melanie she and Georgie started dating, because it was clearly pushing  _ their  _ past selves in the right direction to know. Martin said that was only because Jon was so oblivious he  _ needed  _ it shoved in his face, and… yeah, he couldn’t really argue with that. “Just… right. Don’t lose her.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” 

“Anything else? It’s just, this whole conversation has been a bit weird and I’m not sure how much I  _ actually  _ believe, so I need to go… think. Or something.”

“Of course.” Jon stood, gesturing her to the door of the office. He stopped in the doorway as she turned for the stairs. “If you want to come back during the week to compare me to me for evidence, feel free. Bring Georgie too, if you like. It’ll scare the hell out of young me.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, they haven’t exactly spoken in a while. Might be a bit of a shock.”

_ Less of a shock than turning up on her doorstep accused of murder,  _ Jon thought but didn’t say. Instead he smiled, and said goodbye, and punched the air in victory as soon as Melanie was gone. Another box ticked, another person saved. One of the most important.

The past was turning out to be quite pleasant indeed.

~~~~~

“Hey.”

“What?”

“When’s our anniversary?”

Martin turned to Jon with one eyebrow raised. Jon had his elbow propped on the desk, chin held in his hand as he watched Martin work.

_ “Excuse me?” _

“I mean,” Jon rolled his eyes.  _ “Obviously  _ I know when our anniversary is. But with the time jump… do we celebrate three hundred and sixty-five days since the last time we celebrated? Or do we celebrate on the correct date?”

“Both,” Martin decided. “If you can keep track of the exact day count. Otherwise I’d just stick to the original date. Especially since I’m pretty sure you’ve experienced more days than I have, what with the whole ‘getting lost in the Distortion’ thing.”

“True.” Jon plucked Martin’s hand from the keyboard, kissing the back of it and squeezing it tightly. “Though we could always celebrate three times…”

Martin laughed.

A few minutes later he stopped typing abruptly. “Jon. I just thought of something.”

“Hm?” Jon glanced up from the file he was reading.

“Technically speaking,” he said, “we’re due another wedding. We're not legally married in the past.”

Jon snorted.  _ “Technically _ speaking, we’re due another birth certificate. We were never legally  _ born." _

“Oh yeah, I’m sure they’d be  _ thrilled  _ to reissue one of those from  _ 1987.” _ Martin laughed. “How would that even work? I don’t exactly look twenty-nine anymore.”

“Twenty what-now?” Tim said, from across the room. He turned to young Martin. “I thought you were in your thirties.”

Sasha turned to him as well, and past Jon, who was already sitting at his desk collaborating on a statement, frowned. Young Martin opened and shut his mouth soundlessly. 

Oh. Shit. Martin had forgotten… well,  _ A, _ that everyone in the room could hear them, and  _ B, _ that no one else in the Archives knew he’d lied on his CV. Jon grabbed his hand again, leaning into his shoulder.

“I, uh, yeah, I’m,” he was stalling, stuttering to fill the time in hopes that inspiration would come. Martin knew that face. He nearly interrupted, speaking out to claim the mistake was on his end, but Jon gently squeezed his hand and shook his head.

“They’ll have to find out eventually,” he said, quiet enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

“Well, see, the thing is…” The words finally seemed to come. Martin watched his past self turn to Jon’s past self, wringing his hands and with terror in his eyes. “Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you?” The Head Archivist’s eyebrows nearly jumped off his face. “Why on earth would I fire you?”

“I… lied on my CV.”

“You  _ what?”  _ Young Martin jumped, but the shout was from Sasha. She had stood up in shock, pushing her chair back as she did so with a loud screech.

“I- he’s right, I’m only twenty-nine. I don’t have a Master’s in parapsychology, I don’t even have a degree.” He ducked his head, swallowing convulsively. “I was seventeen, my mum, she had - she had some problems and I ended up dropping out of school trying to support us. I tried everything but nowhere was hiring, so I just kind of… started to lie on my application, sending them out to just about anywhere. For some reason my lie about parapsychology got me an interview with Elias and - and then a job here. But most of my employment details are made up.” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper by the time he finished. “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s hand was tight around Martin’s. He dropped his head onto Martin’s shoulder when the speech was finished. He’d apologized, time and time again, for how he had acted during that confrontation, and Martin had forgiven him every time. He knew Jon would never forgive himself.

He dropped a kiss into Jon’s hair, glancing up again just in time to see young Jon stretch out a hand to young Martin.

“Your mum…?”

He was cut off by the sound of Sasha collapsing back into her chair.

“Oh. My. God. You lied on your application.”

“You gotta admit, that takes balls.”

Sasha’s shock gave way to laughter at Tim’s comment. “It sure as hell does.”

“I wasn’t…” Young Martin looked miserable. “I’m so sorry.”

“Martin,” Young Jon reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stop apologizing.”

“I- I’m sorry, Jon, I just-”

“Martin.” He quietened down. “It’s okay. I’m not going to fire you. Not only do I not have that authority, I also just… I wouldn’t.”

“Oh.” Young Martin finally looked up, meeting his eyes. Young Jon smiled slightly.

“Besides, I never would have guessed you didn’t have a degree, which means you’re turning out work that looks like it’s from someone with a Master’s. That’s pretty impressive.”

“You always used to complain about my work.” His voice sounded a bit teary.

“Yeah, well. I think I was just upset that I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

Young Martin finally smiled back, and young Jon pulled him into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder. They seemed to have forgotten there was anyone else in the room.

Until, that is, Tim cleared his throat loudly.

“So you’re only twenty-nine? Guess I don’t have to be  _ as  _ jealous of your genetics, then. If you were in your thirties with  _ that  _ face?  _ Damn,  _ you’d have hit the jackpot.”

Young Martin laughed, releasing the hug and sitting up straight again. “I cannot tell you how many people have told me I’m lucky for having such a young face. Drove me crazy when I was first hired, I was convinced someone was going to catch me.”

“I’m surprised no one  _ did,”  _ Sasha still looked flabbergasted. “How on  _ earth  _ did you manage to get by without a degree? I was floundering even  _ with  _ one when I first joined.”

“Yeah, so was everyone.” Young Martin shrugged. “I fit right in.”

_ “Nice.”  _ Tim, with a wide grin. “So how did  _ you  _ end up finding out, Sims?”

Jon jumped at the sudden attention. Martin chuckled, squeezing his hand again. “I told him next November. You should have seen his  _ face.” _

Jon frowned. “What about my face?”

“You would have looked less surprised if I’d slapped you with a dead fish.”

“I-” the frown turned petulant. “I was under a lot of stress, okay, and that was about as far from what I was expecting as it is possible to get.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it was a cute slapped-with-a-dead-fish expression,” Martin reassured him. “I had a hard time not dragging you into a kiss right then and there.”

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you now.” Jon raised a challenging eyebrow.

Martin leaned in, then stopped, glancing over at their younger counterparts. Both were flushed to the tips of their ears, studiously avoiding looking at each other or acknowledging what was happening across the room. He grinned.

“Much as I would love to,” he said, in a stage whisper, “I think I have to spare our audience the embarrassment. They’re going to pass out from pure mortification if we’re not careful.”

“Well that’s unfortunate.” Jon sat back, winking at Tim and Sasha. Both of them were watching the scene unfold with extreme amusement. “Maybe when we get home.”

“I’m leaving.” Young Jon stood up suddenly, sending a few papers rustling to the floor. “I’ve got- there’s things I need to work on.”

“What about the statement you were working on? You can’t just leave that to Martin.” Sasha protested.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it!” Young Martin’s voice had gone high-pitched. “No need to stay for my sake!”

“See? He’s fine.” He was out of the room in a rush, closing the door firmly behind him. Tim and Sasha managed to stay quiet for almost twenty seconds after he was gone before bursting into laughter.

“You know what?” Young Martin stood. “I think I need to double check something from the stacks. I’m just gonna… go.” And he was gone as well.

“Huh.” Martin leaned against Jon’s shoulder, staring at the closed door. “Think we pushed them too far?”

“No,” Jon returned the lean. “I think that was very good for them, actually. All of it.”

Martin nodded. Tim and Sasha had started a conversation of their own, but he dropped his voice anyway to ask the next question. “Is he really okay with the lie? I know for you it was just a relief that it wasn’t anything sinister, but that factor doesn’t really apply here.”

Jon let out a surprised laugh. “Do you really think that was all it was? Martin-” he turned, facing him. “For one thing, I’ve never exactly been an academic elitist, and I was more than a little impressed you’d managed to thoroughly disprove anyone who says getting a degree is the be-all and end-all of any intellectual pursuits.”

“Oh.”

“And for another,” here Jon leaned in, lowering his voice even further. “Not that I have a problem with age gaps between two adults in a healthy relationship, but there’s something thrilling about learning the cute guy from your office is only a year older than you.”

_ “Oh.” _

“Yeah.”

“But you didn’t even like me that way yet.”

“Not consciously.” Jon shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t cute.”

Martin smiled. “I’m starting to see why they can’t stand to be in a room with us. We’re insufferably adorable together.”

“Yeah, well, their  _ pining  _ is getting insufferable as well, so fair’s fair.”

“How long, do you think?”

Jon narrowed his eyes in thought. “Couple months. Before autumn, though.”

“Yeah.” Martin nodded. “I’ll take those odds.”

They both looked at the door again. With  _ that  _ kind of reaction, it wouldn’t be long at all before their past selves were falling into each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Jon young Martin young Jon young Martin young Jon young Martin young Jon young Mar-
> 
> I _really_ wish I’d found a better way to signify who was talking when I’m not using Sims and Blackwood, this is getting ridiculous.


	9. Meanwhile…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May to Mid July 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Big_ stretch of time getting covered in this one folks. I drafted this chapter thinking Anatomy Class was in _June,_ not July… Just assume there’s a big, unspoken stretch of pining between sections one and two.

Martin was cute. He was cute, and endearing, and adorable, and funny, and nice, and witty, and he made great tea, and he gave good hugs, and he’d  _ lied on his CV  _ and Jon shouldn’t be impressed by that but he was, he  _ was,  _ and he wrote poetry, and he knit, and his phone’s lock screen was a picture of a highland cow that  _ Jon had sent him,  _ and his hair looked so soft, and his smile was so soft, and his  _ lips  _ looked so soft, and-

-and Jon was hopelessly head over heels for him.

He had known since shortly after Sims had confronted him about his sexuality. That whole conversation had forced him to take a long hard look at his own feelings about - well,  _ everything,  _ really, and he’d had to admit it to himself: he had feelings for Martin.  _ Strong  _ feelings. Strong enough that he wished he had never realized what they were, because it was one thing to want to kiss your best friend and not know why your heart hurt every time you thought of him, and  _ quite  _ another to be well aware that all of that emotional distress would go away in an instant if only he would kiss you back.

_ Christ,  _ Jon had forgotten how much it hurt. It had been years since he’d fallen for someone like this. Longer.  _ Never.  _ He’d had crushes on friends before, but never one where he was so desperately scared of losing the friend if the crush wasn’t returned. 

It would be easier if this was  _ just  _ a crush.

Martin laughed at whatever joke Melanie was wrapping up, eyes crinkling and teeth flashing in the low light of the bar. Jon forced a chuckle as well, though he had no idea what the joke had been. He kept losing track of the conversation. Martin was squeezed into the booth next to him, pressed into him shoulder-to-hip, and it was very distracting.

“I’ll fetch the next round,” Tim announced, “But someone else is going to have to cover it, I got the last one.”

“I’ve got it,” Jon said, “and I’d offer to help carry the drinks as well, but I can’t exactly move.”

The six of them were crammed into one booth, three on each side of the table facing each other. Jon was stuck against a wall, with Martin in the middle and Sasha on the end; on the other side, Georgie was trapped against the wall, next to Melanie, with Tim on the end.

Sasha slipped out of the booth to help Tim with the drinks, and Martin leaned away from Jon so he could grab his wallet from his pocket and pass it over to them. It was a complicated, disruptive process that thoroughly distracted from whatever the previous conversation had been, and Jon swore to himself that he would pay better attention to whatever new topic took its place. This resolution waned when Martin leaned back into him, and Jon’s breath caught at the faint whiff of flowery shampoo wafting from his hair.

“So,” Georgie said. “How’s life been treating you, Jon? It’s been a while.”

“Uh… alright, overall. Better than it would have, if you believe Sims.”

“I still can’t believe Melanie wasn’t pulling my leg over the whole time travel thing.”

Sims had given the Archives crew forewarning that Melanie might be stopping by for a visit (and directed a significant look at Jon when he said she would probably bring her friend Georgie Barker), and she had indeed turned up again a few weeks after her initial statement. Georgie had come with her, and confirmed that yes, both of these men were Jonathan Sims and so yes, they must have been telling the truth about the time travel. They’d hit it off right away with Tim and Sasha, but this was the first time Jon and Martin had joined one of their hangouts. It was… surprisingly not awkward, despite how poorly things had ended between Jon and Georgie back when they broke up.

“Believe me, however weird it is for you? It’s a hundred times weirder for us.” He tilted his head to include Martin in the statement.

Georgie laughed.

“So how have you been, anyway?” he continued. “You’ve barely said anything at all about yourself.”

“Oh, keeping busy.” She grinned. “I’ve got a cat.”

“You’ve what?” Jon sat up straight. Next to him, Martin - who had been listening with a smile, but not actively participating - leaned forward.

“His name is the Admiral, and he is the fluffiest thing you’ve ever seen,” Melanie said. She poked Georgie’s shoulder. “Show them the picture.”

Georgie pulled up a picture on her phone and passed it across to Jon. He held it so Martin could see, too, and Martin leaned close enough that Jon felt the exhale of air against his neck when he gasped, “Oh!”

In the picture, a ball of fluff with two bright green eyes peered back at them. The cat had tried to wedge himself into a box that was far too small for him, and his fur - thick, luxurious, at least two inches long - was sticking out over every edge like a vibrant orange frill. His head was squished back on his shoulders as he stared at the camera in his face, wearing an expression of extreme befuddlement. 

He was, indeed,  _ oh  _ worthy.

“He’s adorable,” Jon glanced back up at Georgie, smiling. “I know you always wanted a cat.”

“Right? I got him from a shelter when he was just a kitten, he’s the best thing ever.”

Martin grabbed the phone from Jon’s hand so he could zoom in on the picture, and-

_ Oh. _

He had the sweetest smile on his face. His eyebrows were pulled up slightly in the middle, lips turned up just a bit at the corners, eyes wide and shining. His fingers had brushed against Jon’s when he took the phone, and Jon could feel his own still tingling at the point of contact. Which was- well, it was frankly ridiculous, given that they were practically sitting on top of each other in the booth, but it was still making his breath come just a bit faster as he looked at Martin.

Martin leaned forward, tilting the phone to Melanie (“Is that your shoe?”), and Jon glanced away.

Georgie was grinning at him. She inclined her head in Martin’s direction, eyebrows raising significantly. Jon scowled, then mimicked the motion, raising his eyebrows at the way she was leaning into Melanie’s shoulder - quite unnecessarily, too, as she still had several inches between herself and the wall. She scowled right back.

Tim and Sasha chose that moment to reappear with the drinks.

“Are we looking at embarrassing photos?” Sasha asked brightly. “Do share.”

“Cat pictures,” Melanie clarified.

“Even better.” Tim tossed Jon’s wallet back, settling into his seat. “To reiterate Sasha’s point: do share.”

It was - aside from Georgie’s knowing smirk every time he laughed a bit too loudly at one of Martin’s jokes - a good evening. It was nice catching up with Georgie. And she pulled the ‘stretch and casually place an arm across the back of a seat so that you’re not  _ quite  _ cuddling your crush but you’ve still got an arm around them’ move with Melanie before they’d even gotten to their third drinks, so she didn’t really have a leg to stand on as far as  _ being obvious around your crush _ went. 

Jon wasn’t even really surprised. There’d been a reason they’d ended up dating back in uni, and even if they hadn’t worked out as a couple, they still got on pretty well. Despite the embarrassing stories she had about him. And shared, with excessive glee. At least she didn’t have any photos of  _ that  _ on her phone.

Jon had noticed Martin watching him during one particularly lively story. He’d had his face in his hands, trying to ignore the way he was never going to live this down, and Martin had been staring at him with a faint look of wonderment. When he noticed that Jon had noticed, he’d placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in.

“And here I thought  _ I’d  _ had a wild youth, lying on my CV and all.” He’d said it quiet enough that no one else would hear, keeping the words for them and them alone. Then he’d squeezed Jon’s shoulder and smiled, before leaning back to pay attention to Georgie again.

Jon was still giddy over it. And, okay, maybe a little tipsy.

It was a  _ good  _ evening.

~~~~~

Jon had been acting… strange, over the last few months. Not  _ bad  _ strange. Just… odd.

He’d been staring at Martin a lot. And leaning into him whenever they were close. And  _ standing  _ close, even when there was plenty of room for him to step away. Case in point: he was right at Martin’s shoulder now, as the entire team gathered around Tim’s desk, even though there was more than enough room for him to put several feet of space between them and still be a part of the conversation.

It was  _ weird. _

Not that Martin objected, oh no. He never wanted Jon to leave his side. But it was sending kind of conflicting signals given that he still barely acknowledged that their older selves from some other course of history were  _ married,  _ and Martin was finding it harder and harder not to kiss him.

He wasn’t even sure if Jon would object to kissing him, at this point. But he wasn’t willing to take the risk to find out.

At the moment, the urge to kiss was rather smaller than usual, given that Tim and Sasha were right in the room with them, and even though the conversation was revolving around Blackwood and Sims, it wasn’t focused on their relationship: it was focused on their chaotic potential.

“I’m just saying, they haven’t told us  _ half  _ of what they’ve been up to,” Sasha was saying. “I saw Sims looking up  _ explosives  _ the other day. I asked him what he was up to, and he just said he ‘wanted to be able to recognize them,’ because apparently, ‘there are  _ so  _ many kinds’.”

“There are, actually,” Martin interjected. They all looked at him. He shrugged. “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never watched Mythbusters.”

“That doesn’t explain why he’s  _ looking them up,”  _ Tim said. “Who needs to be able to recognize explosives in day to day life?”

“Maybe that doctor is some sort of explosives expert?”

“Are you implying that they’re in my office trying to defuse a  _ bomb?”  _ Jon frowned at Sasha, clearly going for skeptical but coming across as closer to unhinged. “Or perhaps build one?”

Blackwood and Sims had kicked Jon out of his office again so they could talk to someone who had come in with a statement - one Dr. Lionel Elliott, who’d flinched away from Martin when he saw he was eating an apple and started rambling about teeth.

“I think he’s a teacher, actually? At some university? He was saying something about his students being supernatural, acting really weird.”

“Students acting weird?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “That’s not supernatural, that’s just students.”

Sasha laughed. “Seriously, though,  _ whatever  _ they’re doing in there, careful with open flames down here for a while. Don’t want anything to go  _ boom.” _

“Most explosives won’t ignite with just an open flame,” Martin noted. “They need something hotter, that’s why you get all those special fuses.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Since when did you become an explosives expert?”

“I told you, Mythbusters.”

“They’re planning on going overseas, too,” Tim jumped in before Jon and Martin could get too wrapped up in each other. Which had admittedly been happening a lot. “Blackwood was looking up flight costs to America. Said something about vampires.”

“Wait, vampires are a real thing?” Sasha smacked him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That’s what I asked him! And he said they’re real, but not like  _ that.  _ I was saving you, Sash.” He put a hand over his heart, looking at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed with unsexy vampires.”

“Very noble of you.” She put a hand on his shoulder, inclining her head in respect.

Martin snorted. “Who needs sexy vampires when you’ve got evil teeth roaming free?”

“Evil what-now?” Her head snapped up.

“Teeth. Dr. Elliott was talking about evil teeth.”

“I thought he was talking about evil students?”

“Those too.”

“Has it ever occurred to anyone,” Jon said, slowly, “how absolutely fucking insane our lives have become?”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Then there were gasps of horror, hands clasped to hearts, scandalized looks.

_ “Jonathan,” _ Tim scolded. “Swearing, in professional company? How  _ could  _ you?”

“In front of a  _ lady,  _ no less.” Sasha delicately raised the back of her hand to her forehead, pretending to swoon into Tim’s chair.

Martin limited himself to just the gasp and shocked look. He would have liked to join in the teasing, he really would, but he couldn’t think of any quips to add on in the moment. His mind was occupied elsewhere. 

He’d never found swearing particularly attractive before, but in Jon’s voice?  _ Damn. _

Oh. That was something he could add.

“Jon, I’m so disappointed,” he said, keeping his voice calm and level. “How fucking dare you.”

That set Tim and Sasha off again. Jon’s jaw dropped, and he gave Martin a look that was half shocked, half impressed.

Martin managed to maintain a straight face for all of five seconds. Then he broke, laughing and shoving Jon with his shoulder.

“Seriously, I don’t think I’ve  _ ever  _ heard you swear before.”

“I swear all the time! In… in my head.”

“Yeah, but never  _ out loud,”  _ Tim finally got the breath to speak. He offered Sasha a hand, hauling her out of the chair, and she leaned into his shoulder, still giggling. “Give us a little warning next time you completely shatter our worldview, will you?”

“Sims swears.”

“Yeah, but he’s been through the  _ apocalypse,”  _ Martin nudged Jon again. “He’s a battle-scarred warrior. You  _ expect  _ that from him.”

“A battle-scarred warrior? And what does that make me?” Jon gave him a challenging look. Martin narrowed his eyes, considering him.  _ Really fucking attractive  _ would probably be inappropriate.

“A thankfully unscarred scholar,” he settled on, which was taking the safe way out, but he didn’t particularly mind. Especially not when Jon flushed, his already dark skin deepening by a few shades.  _ He  _ didn’t have any scars to stand out stark against his cheeks, and Martin wanted so much to reach out and cup his face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over that unblemished skin. He didn’t have anything against scars, of course. But he was extremely prejudiced against anything that would try to hurt Jon.

“Back to your point, though,” Sasha mused, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the way Jon and Martin were staring at each other, “our lives  _ have  _ gotten pretty weird. I mean, I thought things were bad in Artifact Storage, but at least there they don’t come into work saying they need to stop the apocalypse.”

“No, they just try to make you sit in spooky screaming chairs.” Tim raised his eyebrows at her.

“I told you, it’s not the  _ chair  _ that screams, it’s a book.”

“That screams when you sit in a chair?”

“Oh, shut up.”

The conversation devolved from there into friendly insults and trying to coax more stories out of Sasha - she never talked much about her time in Artifact Storage, but what she did share was  _ fascinating  _ \- until the door of the office opened and Blackwood and Sims stepped through, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves. The conversation stopped dead at that, all of the Archives staff shuffling a little awkwardly, like kids caught goofing off in class. Even Jon, which was pretty funny when put in perspective. He did technically still run the department, and was -  _ technically  _ \- allowed to give everyone paid time off whenever he wanted to.

Still, Martin reflected, Sims pretty much ran the Archives now. And Blackwood. Jon was basically just another assistant at this point, except with a nicer office. Which…  _ really  _ didn’t help Martin’s cause of trying not to kiss him. When he’d first started falling for the Head Archivist, he’d been a bit worried about the power dynamic implicit in dating his boss, but  _ now?  _ Now Jon felt like a peer, in both their personal and professional lives.

And he knew about Martin’s CV, and didn’t mind, so there wasn’t even a moral conflict over potentially-lying to a potential-boyfriend.

It was getting  _ really  _ hard not to kiss him. Martin didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

~~~~~

Blackwood was making tea. Jon watched him, the careful, precise movements as he poured the water and spooned sugar into the mug. He added a half-spoon extra than Martin usually did, and Jon filed that away for future reference if he should ever find himself in a situation where he was making tea before Martin thought to. It was unlikely to happen, but he wanted to be prepared, just in case.

The spoon clinked against the side of the mug as he stirred it. Steam rose from the tea, coating the back of his hand, and Blackwood took a moment to dry his hand against his shirt before adding the milk. He tugged his wedding band up his finger slightly, drying under it before sliding it back into place.

How had Sims managed it?

He and Blackwood were so in love. It had bothered Jon at first, made him angry and uncomfortable any time he saw them being soft with each other, but now… now it just made him ache. He’d never had that with  _ anyone,  _ let alone Martin, but he wanted it. He wanted it so much.

He’d lost track of the number of times he’d run into them kissing in the corridors. They never seemed embarrassed about being interrupted. More often than not Blackwood would keep a hand on Sims’ shoulder while Jon blushed and stuttered his way through an apology, and Sims had occasionally ignored him entirely in favor of fixing whatever sections of Blackwood’s hair he’d mussed in the kiss. They were so casual about it, so confident in themselves and each other.

Jon thought about that, about Sims kissing Blackwood - about  _ Blackwood  _ kissing  _ Sims _ \- and he thought about kissing Martin, and he ached.

Blackwood cleared his throat, and Jon jumped. He’d spaced out still staring at him, and Blackwood was giving him an odd look.

“Alright, Jon?”

“Ah… yes.” Jon shook his head. “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking - it's just weird, that you've kissed me but I've never kissed you."

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that.

Blackwood just laughed. "Oh, I never kissed  _ you. _ It took me and my Jon  _ years  _ to get together."

“Oh.” Jon looked away.

Blackwood came over, sitting across from him at the small table. Jon avoided his eyes, taking a bite out of his sandwich. He’d promised Martin he’d take lunch breaks even if he had no one to talk to during them, and he was trying to keep that promise.

After a moment he spoke, still avoiding Blackwood’s eyes. “How… how  _ did  _ that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Hm? Oh, us getting together?” He tilted his head back and forth, thinking. “It’s… a long story? It- well, I mean, it kind of took both of us almost dying to actually… admit how we felt. Once we got that all out in the open it was easy, though.” He smiled nostalgically.

“How long was it?”

“Sorry?”

“How long was it b-before you,” Jon stuttered, “r-realized how you felt for each other?”

“Oh,” Blackwood chuckled. “I think I’m going to have to pass on that question, personally. Given… well, you and Martin. Jon’s said he was in love with me for years before he knew, but he didn’t  _ realize  _ it until he heard Melanie and- and someone you’ve never met gossiping about my crush on him.” He glanced down, smiling into his tea. “It was still a while before we got together, though.”

Jon’s world turned upside down. “Wait, you fell for him  _ first?” _

“Yes,” Blackwood said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Did- did you not know that?”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh. Well, I guess it  _ would  _ be hard to judge, seeing us now... “ Blackwood continued, rambling about how odd it was to be in a world where no one remembered their history. Jon tuned him out.

Blackwood had fallen for Sims  _ first. _ How the hell had that happened? He’d assumed-

Well. He’d assumed that Sims, like himself, had fallen for Martin Blackwood back when they were just friends. That it had taken years of gradual personal growth from Sims before Blackwood had even  _ begun  _ to consider him a valid romantic possibility. 

Just how far in the future  _ had  _ they gotten together? Sims must have undergone that personal growth  _ before  _ falling for Blackwood. There was no way Blackwood would have fallen for him when he acted like  _ Jon.  _ But then how had Sims known Blackwood for so long and  _ not  _ fallen for him?

“Jon?”

He glanced up. Blackwood was looking at him with a searching expression.

“Yes?”

“Why were you thinking about kissing me?”

“What?”

“This all started because you were thinking about-”

“I wasn’t!” Jon interrupted, and winced. Sims didn’t interrupt people. Or if he did, he had a damn good reason for it. “I wasn’t thinking about k-  _ kissing  _ you. I was just-”

One eyebrow crept up Blackwood’s face. “Were you thinking about kissing Martin?”

“I was thinking about you and Sims!” It came out frustrated and huffy. “Forgive me if I’m curious about my doppelganger’s life!”

“Right. That’s understandable.” Blackwood nodded, the picture of patience. He gave Jon a moment to try to calm down, then said, in a calm and deliberate tone: "So  _ have  _ you been thinking about kissing Martin?"

“Who’s kissing Martin?” Sims wandered into the room, and Jon put his head in his hands and groaned.

“No one is kissing Martin!”

“I beg to differ.” Sims kissed Blackwood on the cheek before sitting down next to him. “Martin Blackwood- _ Sims  _ gets kissed whenever he wants.”

Blackwood grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers and smiling at his husband. “Martin  _ Blackwood,  _ on the other hand, has not been kissed in a long time if I recall correctly. So,” and he turned back to Jon, “you don’t exactly have much competition if you were planning to try.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Wait.” Sims sat up straight. “Did he finally admit he wants to kiss your past self?”

“I don’t-”

“Not as such. He  _ did  _ say he was thinking about the two of us kissing, though, and that it’s weird that we know what that’s like but he and Martin don’t.”

“That’s not what I-”

“That sounds like a confession to me.” Sims turned back to Jon. “So why haven’t you done it?”

Jon sat back, gaping at them. Had he really been  _ that  _ obvious? Or had they just been together so long that they’d forgotten there was ever a time when they  _ weren’t  _ in love?

It would explain why they seemed to be glossing over the fact that  _ Martin didn’t want to kiss him back. _

“Well,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “for one thing, I’m technically his boss.”

Sims waved a hand. “That’s pretty much meaningless at this point, there’s no reason to let that stop you.”

“I think there’s a pretty widely-accepted moral dilemma in dating one of your-”

“I  _ mean,”  _ Sims interrupted, “You’re not really the boss of anything at this point.  _ Obviously  _ that would be a problem if you  _ actually  _ had control over his employment status, and all that.”

“Regardless, he-”

“We could always demote you,” Blackwood said.

“What?”

“If you’re worried about the power imbalance. Jon’s basically running things around here anyway. Sorry -  _ my  _ Jon. The Archivist, and all that. We don’t really  _ need  _ a Head Archivist as well.”

Sims gave him an adoring look. “That is absolutely brilliant.” Then he turned back to Jon. “So what do you say? Fancy being an Archival Assistant? The pay won’t change, and you can even keep your office if you like. You just have to lose the plaque on the door.”

“I-” Christ,  _ would  _ that change things? Maybe Martin would be more likely to look at him as more than a friend if he wasn’t his boss. There was still the personality to contend with, but he was  _ trying  _ to be better, he really was. It would at least put him in a position where he wouldn’t feel skeevy about trying to flirt with Martin. Not that he knew how to flirt. 

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to  _ demote  _ me,” he said. “There’s _ plenty  _ of other reasons I haven’t asked Martin out, and I  _ don’t  _ need you two interfering.”

“But you  _ do  _ have feelings for him,” Sims pressed.

“I-  _ yes,  _ fine, I have feelings for him!” Jon threw his hands into the air. “Happy? I’m just like you, I can’t help being head over heels for- for kindness and tea and- and  _ him.”  _ He gestured at Blackwood. “Whatever version of him is-” he laughed, slightly breathless, “only a year older than me, apparently.”

Sims grinned. “Pretty exciting, isn’t it, finding that out? And yes, I  _ am  _ happy. We need each other. Every version of us.”

Blackwood gave him a soft look, squeezing his hand again before reaching out and patting Jon on the shoulder. “You’re lucky. I know it might not feel like it, but I’d give almost anything to have these years back.  _ Really  _ have them back, I mean, not just live them from an outside perspective.”

Sims nodded. “We missed out on so much time together. Don’t let that happen to you.”

Jon sighed, covering his face with his hands. He  _ was  _ lucky, he knew that. One look at Sims’ scars was all he needed to confirm he was very lucky indeed. But Sims had Blackwood, and all Jon had was an aching heart.

_ “Please  _ don’t interfere,” he reiterated.

“We won’t,” Sims said, and Blackwood nodded.

“Thank you.” He picked up his sandwich again. “Now can I  _ please  _ finish my lunch in peace?”


	10. Checking off the to-dos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late July 2016

“I think we should just tell them.”

“I think that would be a terribly bad idea.”

“Come on, they’re clearly both in love with each other, we just need to point it out to them, and-”

“And watch as they subsequently avoid ever talking to each other again? Martin, I knew you had feelings for me for a  _ long time  _ before the Unknowing, and I did  _ nothing.  _ You really think they’d be any different?”

“Yeah, but we’re not exactly going to toss them into  _ life threatening danger,  _ are we?  _ Neither  _ of us would have  _ ever  _ said anything if  _ you  _ hadn’t died and  _ I  _ hadn’t gotten stuck in the Lonely.”

“We  _ promised.”  _ Jon’s exaggerated hand-waving would probably be more effective if he wasn’t leaning back against Martin’s shoulder, directing his rant at the wall. He could feel Martin’s shoulder moving as he, too, gesticulated wildly to emphasize his points.

“But they’re  _ miserable!  _ Surely helping them out comes before keeping a promise!”

“We dealt with being miserable! They’ll survive.”

“But we were  _ useless  _ when it came to being upfront about this kind of thing. Hold on, sit up.”

Jon tipped his chair forward, letting it fall back onto all four legs. He’d had it leaning back on two so  _ he  _ could lean on Martin. Martin scooted his own chair around to face Jon, and Jon sighed and turned his as well. Their knees brushed in the space between them.

“We were  _ useless,  _ Jon, and they are too.” Martin continued. “Are we really going to let them be miserable on the off chance that they’ll figure themselves out soon? He made us promise not to interfere because he thinks Martin doesn’t like him back. Who’s to say they won’t be pissed at us for not telling them once they find out it’s mutual?”

“Look, I get where you’re coming from,” Jon said. “But I’m trying to put myself in their shoes. How do you think you’d have reacted if - I don’t know… if during the Prentiss siege Tim and Sasha had forced the two of us in a room together and said we should go out? Would you have believed them?”

“Well, no, but back then - now, I mean - you didn’t-”

“Bad example. What about if Melanie and Basira had cornered us in the weeks before the Unknowing? Yeah, we probably would have gone on a date. Maybe even kissed. But the  _ entire  _ time, there’d be that little doubt, that  _ what if he’s only doing this to make me feel better? We got put on the spot, maybe he’s trying to let me down easy over my hopeless, one-sided love.” _

“Oh. You may have a point.” Martin grabbed his hands, absently running his thumbs over their backs as he thought. “We’ve got shit self-esteem, don’t we?”

Jon laughed. “That’s what my therapist keeps saying.”

“Mine too.” Martin tugged on his hands. “Fine. We won’t tell them - yet. If this goes on too much longer, though, we’re going to have to.”

“Deal.” Jon leaned in, and Martin met him in the middle for a kiss.

“Hey, guys, there was- Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Martin’s voice, from the door of the office. Jon and Martin both turned to find young Martin there, blushing to the roots of his hair.

“No need to apologize,” Jon said. “What’s happened?”

“I- I just took a delivery-” He was still flushed, and Jon had to bite back a grin. He could see Martin holding one back as well. It was never  _ not  _ fun flustering their younger selves. “F-from those guys you told us to look out for? Big, thick cockney accents?”

“Oh, Breekon and Hope?”

“Yeah, those guys. It was just a small package, I didn’t see any table.”

“They’ll have left that upstairs.” Martin stood, tugging Jon after him. “Come on, let’s go before it gets checked into Artifact Storage.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Young Martin stepped back to let them pass, then followed them to the stairs.

“Can you find the others?” Jon asked. “Make sure they stay out of the way, we’ll be bringing the table through here.”

“Got it,” he said, turning and walking in the other direction.

Jon turned to Martin. “Ready to move some furniture?”

~~~~~

“Higher on your end,” Jon grunted.

“Jon, I’m only so tall!”

They had - somehow - managed to get the table down the stairs into the Archives. Getting it into the tunnels was proving a bit more difficult.

“It’s catching on the edge, maybe if we tilt it-” Jon gave the table a shove, and Martin almost lost his grip.

“Careful! I nearly dropped it, there.”

“Damn.” There was a moment’s pause. Martin could imagine Jon, halfway down the stairs into the tunnels, pushing flyaway strands of greying hair back from his forehead as he thought through the problem; he’d put it in a ponytail at Martin’s insistence, but it never stayed.

“Look, just tell me what you’re going to do, and I can copy it up here, okay?”

“Okay.” The table wobbled again. “I want to tilt it to get it through the trapdoor, so I’m going to raise the right side - my right, your left - and push the other side down.”

“On your mark.”

“Three. Two. Go!”

Martin heaved. The table stuck for a moment, then tilted wildly, sliding another foot into the tunnels before stopping. He braced his feet on the floor, trying to hold it back.

“Jon, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jon’s voice was strained. “It’s heavy, though. Ready to keep going?”

“You lead, I’ll keep it from dropping on your head.”

“Sounds good.”

It was a slow process, but eventually Jon was able to back down the stairs completely, steering the table after him. Martin followed, trying to hold most of the weight on his end so Jon wasn’t crushed. They let it rest there for a moment, leaning against the wall to breathe.

“This would be-” Jon sucked in a breath, “-would be a lot easier if I wasn’t so  _ scared  _ of the thing.”

“Tell me about it.” Martin leaned into his shoulder. “But I haven’t seen anything moving yet.”

“No,” Jon sighed. “It’s probably waiting to get one of us alone.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Jon pushed himself away from the wall. “Come on. Let’s get this thing deeper in.”

They stopped a few tunnels away from the trapdoor, near the place Prentiss had once tried (never would try) to open a door through to the Corruption. Martin pushed the table in close to the wall while Jon grabbed the camping lights they had balanced on top, moving them to the floor out of the way.

Once that was done, Martin turned to Jon again. “Are you  _ sure  _ you’re going to be okay down here alone?”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon said, pulling him into a quick kiss. “Your worry is appreciated, but unfounded. I’ve got the  _ Seven Lamps,”  _ he brandished the book, “and I know how to use it. Besides, you’re needed elsewhere.”

“Right.” Martin pulled the cigarette lighter from his pocket, frowning at the familiar spiderweb pattern. “Is it weird that I’m looking forward to getting to be the one to destroy it this time?”

“Not at all. Destruction is fun.”

Martin laughed, shoving the lighter back into his pocket. “Just don’t take another axe to that table.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Now go. I’ll be up soon.”

“Fine.” Martin grabbed one of the lamps, holding it aloft to illuminate the way. “Don’t dillydally.”

He heard the walls start to shift and grind behind him as he made his way back to the trapdoor, closing in on the table and trapping the NotThem in an unbreakable stone tomb. He walked a little faster.

Back in the Archives, the young staff had gathered around the entrance to the trapdoor, watching it warily. They backed away hurriedly when they saw him coming their way.

“It’s just me.” Martin called up the stairs, and he could hear the sighs of relief as he made his way up.

“Where’s Sims?” Sasha asked.

“Doing some interior decorating.” He bit back a smile at their confused looks as he brushed past them. “I’ll be back soon to explain.”

Back at the desk he shared with Jon, Martin grabbed the sledgehammer that they had brought in a few days before. They’d gotten a few weird looks for that, and he got more than a few again as he carried it out to the front steps of the Institute. Once there, he set the lighter down gently in the shadow of a pillar and hefted the hammer over his shoulder.

It came down with a satisfying  _ crack!  _ A few shards of the plastic casing flew off, ruining the web design. Another  _ crack!  _ and the casing shattered entirely, exposing its metal innards. He kept going, bringing the hammer down again and again until his hands were sore and the lighter was reduced to nothing more than flattened metal, bits of plastic, and a small, greasy stain where the fuel had spilled on the stone.

He returned the sledgehammer to the Archives and came back with a dustpan and broom. The debris were easy to sweep up, and he dumped them in the bin right outside the main doors. Rosie raised an eyebrow at him as he made his way past her desk back to the Archives, and he waved at her cheerily before heading down. 

Jon met him at the bottom of the stairs, sweeping him into a hug.

“Sasha’s safe,” he said, speaking the words into Martin’s shoulder. “Leitner says hi.”

“Oh god, is he still living down there?” Martin shook his head. “Anyway, the lighter’s destroyed too.”

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Jon pulled back to hold Martin by the shoulders, smiling.

“Means we did it.”

“We  _ fucking  _ did it.” Jon surged forward again, kissing Martin passionately. He was laughing when he pulled back, and he pressed his forehead against Martin’s. “Nothing urgent to do until  _ Daisy.  _ And Basira. That’s  _ ages  _ away.”

“We saved the fucking day.” Martin laughed as well, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist and lifting him slightly to spin them both in a small circle. “We saved them all.”

Jon clung to Martin until he put him down; then he stepped back, grabbing both of Martin’s hands in his own and swinging them back and forth. He was grinning. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well,  _ right  _ now I think we owe our younger selves an explanation as to why we were so scared of a  _ table.”  _ Martin said. He was grinning too. “Then, we go on a date. A  _ proper  _ date, with dinner reservations and getting dressed up and all that fancy stuff. On the 29th, if we can, because I do  _ not  _ want to spend the day thinking about what happened  _ last  _ time we lived it.”

“Agreed.” Jon shuddered. Martin squeezed his hands a little tighter, running his thumbs over the scars Jane Prentiss had left there. “And after that?”

Martin shrugged. “Might as well start getting a head start on everything else.”

~~~~~

Jon narrowed his eyes at his phone screen, trying to tune out the conversation happening in his periphery. This was too important to mess up, and much more confusing than he had expected.

“Sorry,” Tim was saying, “You mean Sasha  _ wasn’t  _ joking about the C4?”

“It’s not C4, Tim, there  _ are  _ other explosives in the world-”

_ “So  _ many others,” Jon said, giving up on the phone for a moment and mimicking Martin’s voice. Martin turned to glare at him, and Jon grinned.

_ “As I was saying,”  _ Martin resumed, turning back to Tim. “It’s not C4, but yes, we do have plastic explosives. First time around we used them to blow up a ritual that was meant to end the world, and it went… really bad.”

Tim nodded. “Sims told us about that. I, uh… I died, huh?”

“Saving the world. Avenging your brother.”

“And this time?”

“This time, we’re doing it on our own terms.” Martin grabbed a file off the desk, passing it over to Tim. “It turns out we don’t  _ actually  _ have to blow up the ritual itself, so we’re setting things off early, as it were. We’ve staked out the area-” he pointed to several pictures in the file Tim held. “It’s completely abandoned, so as long as we can lure the Ringmaster there, we’ll be able to plant the bombs and blow them up remotely from a safe distance. We’ll take down the Circus without putting ourselves in danger.”

“And how are we going to lure them?”

“Leave  _ that  _ to me,” Jon said. He finally found the ‘upload’ button, and attached a few of the pictures he and Martin had taken at Gertrude’s storage unit. “Wait. That’s not right. Martin, how do I add the text?”

“Give it here.” Martin snatched the phone out of his hand. “How on earth did you get  _ here?  _ No, you’ve got to-” a few seconds of messing about and he was giving the phone back to Jon. “Honestly, sometimes I cannot  _ believe  _ you’re a nineties kid.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Jon said dryly. “Now shush, I’m thinking.”

After a minute he nodded, and turned back to the phone. “L... O... L..." he typed slowly, fingers careful on the small keyboard. "Just... found... this... old... gorilla skin... in a... defunct... storage unit.... Who knew... the old lady... who owns it... was so into... taxidermy. Aaaand post." Jon set the phone down, sighing in satisfaction. "Now we just have to hope Nikola Orsinov is on Instagram."

“Wait,” Tim said, holding up a hand. “All that fuss was about posting on  _ Instagram?” _

“Well, yes, the system isn’t very intuitive and-”

“And Jon knows fuck-all about social media,” Martin interrupted, raising his eyebrows and giving him a pointed look. “I think you were about to delete your account by accident,  _ how  _ did you get on that page?”

“I don’t know!”

_ “You have an Instagram account?”  _ Tim exclaimed. “I need to follow it. Right. Now.”

“He never posts,” Martin said, shaking his head in despair. “I said he needed to get some baseline activity on there so the taxidermy post didn’t look so suspicious, but this is  _ literally  _ the first time he’s posted.”

“I think I deal with  _ quite  _ enough supernatural voyeurism in my day-to-day life, I do  _ not  _ feel the need to broadcast it to strangers on the internet as well.”

“Except for the literal Strangers-with-a-capital-S,” Martin noted dryly.

“Well, yes, obviously. That’s just part of the plan.”

“Okay,” Tim said. He’d grabbed Jon’s phone and was holding it in one hand while he tapped at his own in the other. “I found your account. Following you now. Wait, you already have a follower?”

“Me,” Martin supplied.

“Right. I’ll follow you too.” Tim passed Jon’s phone back after a minute. “Now you’ve got  _ two  _ followers, you look like a real account. Better start posting more, bossman.”

Jon shoved his phone back in his pocket with a huff. “I will not succumb to peer pressure.”

Tim frowned. “Fine. But I’m sure you’ve got  _ lots  _ of opportunities to take lovely pictures of Blackwood. Instagram’s great for showing off your partner.”

“But then I’d have to use those opportunities to take pictures, instead of kissing him.” Jon spread his hands, delivering the sentence like the closing argument of a debate. Tim capitulated.

“Fine. I’m still following you, though. And getting Sasha to follow you, too. And Jon and Martin.” He paused. “Hey, wait, no, you should  _ definitely  _ start posting date selfies, because if I get Jon and Martin to follow you, you’d be able to make them jealous without even  _ being  _ there.”

“Good point,” Martin turned to Jon. “He’s got a good point, there.”

“He does.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll consider it. But shouldn’t we get back to  _ the matter at hand?” _

“Right.” Martin turned back to Tim. “We’ve got the storage shed rigged with cameras and motion sensors, and the explosives are set as well. Basically the plan is to keep an eye out for any movement there, check to make sure it  _ is  _ the Circus and that there’s no one  _ else  _ in the area, and then blow it up.  _ We’re  _ doing it one way or another, because we need to take them down, but we wanted to offer you the chance to help us. If- if you want. If you think it will help you… emotionally speaking.”

Tim hesitated. Jon stood, walking over to place a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to. Last time around, you staked  _ everything  _ on this, to an… unhealthy extent. You seem to be in a better place now. We’re not trying to drag you back in, if you need the distance.”

“I’ll…” Tim took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it. I don’t…  _ know  _ if it’ll help or not. I want the Circus gone,” he said it quickly, as if that could be in doubt. “But I don’t know if I need to be the one to pull the trigger. I’ll… let you know. Soon.”

“Take your time,” Jon said, and “We understand,” Martin added.

Tim nodded. “Thank you. I, um… I think I need some time to myself, to process this? So I’m just gonna… go.” He gave them a tight smile as he left the room.

Martin waited for a moment after he was gone before sighing. “Well, that went better than expected.”

_ “He’s  _ doing better than expected. I suppose I always assumed that he was set to snap one way or another, but it really must have just been Prentiss that set him off. And- and me.”

“Not your fault, Jon,” Martin said in a warning tone. “You can’t control the behavior of others, and you were in the middle of a breakdown too.”

“Right.” Jon hugged him. His tendency to blame himself was one of the things he was finding most difficult to shake, even with the help of a therapist and Martin’s constant support. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Martin nuzzled his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Back to a lighter subject?”

“Hm?”

“Tim’s right. We should post cute selfies. Our younger selves are about to snap, that could be enough to push them over the edge.”

Jon laughed, disentangling himself from Martin and stepping back. “You are  _ not  _ going to let that go, are you?”

“We could take the internet by storm…” Martin wheedled.

Jon rolled his eyes.  _ “Fine.  _ I’ll take pictures, but they’re going on  _ your  _ account. Mine is for weird taxidermy and weird taxidermy only.”

Martin laughed too. “Sounds like a plan.”


	11. Drumroll please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 2016

Jon was going to kiss him.

He had to. Martin was sitting there, laughing at some joke Sasha had just told, fork forgotten halfway to his mouth with the pasta falling off it, absolutely  _ beautiful,  _ and Jon was going to kiss him.

Not right  _ now,  _ obviously, not in front of Sasha and Tim, not over lunch, but he was going to do it. Soon.

It was a terrifying revelation. He’d thought he was okay with it, suffering in silence, admiring Martin from a distance but not- not risking  _ everything  _ on the off chance that he might feel the same. Not that he  _ did  _ think Martin felt the same - he still didn’t know for  _ sure  _ how Martin felt about him, but he was  _ pretty positive  _ the feelings were one-sided.

But he couldn’t go on like this. Couldn’t go on without Martin knowing how he felt. Couldn’t go on with the doubts and the what-ifs, couldn’t go on with all his feelings trapped inside and choking him. He had to let them out. He couldn’t  _ not. _ That is to say-

_ Obviously  _ he could  _ not kiss him.  _ But he couldn’t not tell him how he felt. It was too painful.

So Jon was going to tell him, and then he was going to kiss him: on the lips, if he was the luckiest man alive, or - more likely - on the back of his hand in faux-chivalry as he tried to pretend his heart wasn’t breaking when Martin turned him down.

His stomach clenched, and he turned his face away from the others to hide the grimace of pain. Christ, this was going to hurt. But that wasn’t going to stop him.

Martin walked back to his office with him after lunch, their shoulders brushing in the corridor, and Jon did his best to hide the fact that even that minimal contact sent sparks shooting through his chest every time.

At least once Martin knew how he felt he’d be able to stop this useless hiding. Sure, it might make things awkward, but at least Martin would  _ know  _ why Jon kept staring at him, kept flushing every time he smiled, kept stuttering every time Martin gave him that soft look like he was doing now.

Jon paused in the door of his office, leaning against the frame so he could talk to Martin for just a few moments longer. Martin laughed again, eyes sparkling, and Jon nearly broke then and there, his confession only halted by the fact that his breath had been stolen away.

When Martin finally went back to the assistants’ office, Jon quietly shut the door of his own. He leaned back against it, shoulders flat against the old wooden boards, and covered his face with his hands.

He was going to tell Martin. He was going to tell Martin  _ soon.  _ And then they could move on, they would both know how Jon felt and he wouldn’t have to hide it, and they could still be friends.

...Right?

Oh god, what if they  _ couldn’t  _ move on? What if Martin hated him for this?

Jon’s breath caught again, for a much more unpleasant reason. He wouldn’t  _ blame  _ Martin for being horrified by it. Jon was under no illusions about his own appeal as a romantic partner - or even just as a person in general - and Martin had every right in the world to be put off at the thought of being with him.

What if he lost Martin forever, all because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut?

But he  _ couldn’t.  _ Keep it shut, that is. He  _ had  _ to tell him. He was  _ going  _ to tell him.

Just as soon as he got up the courage to ruin his life forever.

~~~~~

Martin was going to kiss him.

This had gone on long enough - this weird, half-flirting, half-friends dance between himself and Jon. The way Jon had been looking at him over lunch… then that smile, as he stood in his office doorway, eyes sparkling as he watched Martin laugh… Martin couldn’t take it any longer. He was going to kiss him.

He tried to focus on the email he was writing, but his fingers trembled against the keys as he typed and he kept hitting the wrong letters. He was going to kiss Jon.  _ He,  _ Martin Blackwood, was going to kiss  _ Jonathan Sims,  _ the guy he’d had feelings for since… too long. Too long, and he’d done nothing about it.

He didn’t  _ know,  _ not with any certainty, if Jon returned his feelings, but he was  _ pretty sure,  _ by now, that he did. The idea sent a nervous flutter through his stomach.

And if he didn’t… well, then there were two outcomes. Either they could move on with nothing changing, or Jon would be so awkward and uncomfortable about it that they would never speak again. The first possibility was, at this point - Martin hoped - much more likely. They’d become quite close over the last half-year, and despite Jon’s general lack of social awareness, Martin figured they meant enough to each other to work through any problems. The second possibility was terrifying, and Martin shied away from even considering it. He couldn’t lose Jon’s friendship. He just couldn’t.

No. It would go well. Maybe not quite as well as he hoped, but certainly not friendship-endingly awful.

Next time they were alone, Martin would tell him. He certainly wasn’t going to do it in front of - he glanced up, briefly, at the office, and at Sasha and Tim and Sims and Blackwood -  _ everyone.  _ Maybe he could ask Jon out for lunch over the weekend, and tell him then. It wasn’t like they had many opportunities to be alone at work. He’d have time to prepare.

Christ, he was scared. But he wasn’t going to back down. He’d made himself a promise, now: the next time they were alone, he’d tell Jon how he felt. No matter what the circumstances were.

And then… then Martin would kiss him. If things went well. And if they didn’t, then Martin would hug him, and hope it was enough to hide his face and his broken heart.

~~~~~

Jon’s hands were shaking. He’d given up trying to get any work done after lunch.

He was being an idiot. Of  _ course  _ Martin didn’t return his feelings. Why would he?

Jon had been awful to him for so long. Sure, they were friends now, but… Jon didn’t even know  _ why,  _ not really. Martin was… amazing. Jon was just Jon. Jon  _ was,  _ by his own future self’s admission, an asshole.

Martin deserved better. He deserved a better friend, and he deserved a better… he deserved to have someone better than Jon fall for him. He deserved to have his asshole friend be content with  _ being  _ his friend, and not have him ruining it all just because he wanted Martin to know how he felt.

It was selfish. And it was even more selfish because he  _ knew  _ it was selfish, and he was going to do it anyway. He was going to tell Martin how he felt.

It should have helped that Sims and Blackwood were together. Jon  _ should  _ have been reassured that Martin would see the man he  _ could  _ be, if he were given time. But he couldn’t help thinking that Martin would take one look at him, and see all the places where he failed to live up to his potential, and walk away forever.

Jon stood, suddenly, scattering the papers on his desk with the motion. If he was going to ruin  _ everything,  _ he might as well just  _ get it over with. _

He strode out of his office, across the corridor, to the door of the assistant’s office. It wasn’t shut completely; through the crack between the door and the frame he could see Blackwood and Sims, hunched over a file, heads touching as they read it together. He swallowed convulsively, then pushed the door open.

"Martin!" The call came out sharper than he'd intended; Martin jumped, apprehension filling his face, and the others frowned at them both. Jon jerked his head toward his office. "I need to speak with you."

In the few moments it took for Martin to make his way over, Jon retreated back to his own office, behind the desk, and sat down. His legs were shaking.

What was he thinking?

He’d overheard Sims and Blackwood talking a few days ago. He wasn’t even sure what the conversation had been about, but Sims had been excited, and Blackwood had laughed and said, “Calm down, love,” and Jon had almost walked into a doorframe.  _ Love. _

It wasn’t just the endearment that had gotten to him. It was the way he said it, teasing and carefree, as though it were a given.  _ Love. _ Like he said it every day. Like neither of them would ever question the fact that they loved each other. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world that Sims was a loveable person.

And wasn’t he? Even Jon had to admit, as much as his future self got under his skin, he was… a nice guy. Kind. Well-meaning. He cared about other people, and was rather good at expressing how much he cared. He made the people he talked to feel welcome, and welcomed people talking to him. And he was pretty damn selfless, and a full-fledged hero, given the whole ‘time travel to stop the apocalypse’ thing. How could Blackwood not love him?

Jon wasn’t nice. He was short-tempered, and rude, and he pushed people away. He  _ did  _ care about other people, but he never showed it in the right ways. And he hated people talking to him, unless it was on his terms. He’d been trying to be better about it, he really had, but he got so wrapped up in his work that anyone who interrupted him was as likely to get berated and thrown out of his office as not. He was nothing like Sims.

He was lucky that Martin was willing to put up with him enough to be his friend. How could he possibly think he had a shot at more?

The door creaked open, and Martin poked his head around the frame. Jon waved him in, and he smiled, stepping in the rest of the way. The smile looked a bit strained.

“Hi, Jon,” he said. “What’s up?”

“There’s, uh… there’s something we need to talk about.” His voice trembled a bit, and he cursed himself internally. If he was about to shatter the most important relationship in his life, he ought to at least be able to do it with confidence.

“O-oh? What’s… is something wrong?” Martin shifted his weight nervously, the way he used to do when Jon would snap at him.

“I don’t know.” Jon was trying to meet his eyes, but it was hard. His throat felt thick, choked with unshed tears.

“Jon?”

"I- I can't  _ do  _ this anymore, Martin!" The words burst from him suddenly, desperate and loud. Jon’s chest clenched, and he had to choke back a sob.

Martin looked at him, confused and concerned. "Can't do  _ what, _ Jon?"

_ "This. _ I have..." His head dropped. He sagged in his chair, clasping his hands between his knees. "I have feelings for you." It was the faintest whisper.

"Jon?" He heard Martin's feet move - whether stepping forward or backing away, he couldn't tell.

"I know, Martin. I know. I don't deserve - I'm not  _ him." _ He flung out a hand at the wall, past which his future self - the self that he would never be - was laughing and joking with Tim and Sasha, loving his husband, being kind and gentle and perfect-

Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and he brushed them furiously away.

"I know you're not, Jon." Martin's voice was soft. "But  _ he's  _ not the one I fell for, either."

Jon froze. "What?" His voice came out in a croak.

"Look at me." Jon did. Martin was standing in front of the desk, smiling slightly, hands outstretched and beckoning. "Come here, Jon. Please."

Jon stood, stumbling as his feet caught around the chair legs. He walked around the desk, eyes never leaving Martin's face, and as soon as he was close enough Martin grabbed his hands and held them tightly. Here, looking at each other from so close, he could see that there were tears in Martin's eyes as well.

"I have feelings for you too, Jon. I- I really,  _ really  _ do, I have for a long time, and I'd quite like to kiss you, now, if that's alri-"

Jon didn't wait for him to finish the sentence, leaning forward and pressing his lips to the corner of Martin's mouth halfway through the word. Martin squeaked, and turned his head, and-

And Jon didn't know how he could have waited this long, understood completely why their counterparts were always getting distracted by each other, because Martin's mouth was  _ amazing.  _ His lips were slightly parted, tongue darting out just enough to brush over Jon's bottom lip, and Jon let out a frankly embarrassing noise, dropping Martin's hands so that he could wind his arms around his waist and draw him closer, closer.

Martin pressed one hand against his chest, the other gripping his shoulder, and started pushing him back, lips still locked together. Jon's legs hit the edge of the desk, and Martin pushed again, urging him onto it. He obliged, and felt Martin grin against his lips when the maneuver took a few inches off his height. He shifted again, wrapping his arms around Jon's neck, one hand burying itself in his hair, pulling him closer, bringing them chest-to-chest, and...

When they finally parted, out of breath and thoroughly mussed from kissing so long, Martin pressed his forehead against Jon's.

"Sorry," he said, though his grin was not sorry at all. "I've wanted to do that for a  _ long  _ time. Was it too much?"

_ "Martin," _ Jon laughed, happier than he could even believe. "It was perfect."

“Good.” Martin closed his eyes, tilting his face slightly against Jon’s - not kissing him, just bringing him close enough that their noses brushed, and Jon tightened his grip on Martin’s shirt.

He was- he didn’t even know. 

He’d just kissed Martin. Martin had just kissed  _ him. _

Martin had  _ feelings  _ for him.

Martin was laughing.

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin said. He was still grinning, still pressed close enough that Jon could feel each puff of air against his face as Martin giggled. “I’m just -  _ god.  _ I’m just glad you said something first, I don’t think I could have got the words out.”

“Wait, what?” Jon pulled back a bit, just enough to look him in the eyes, but the gesture proved futile as Martin sagged against him, pressing his face into Jon’s neck. Jon’s pulse jumped, and, in a fit of daring, he leaned down to kiss Martin’s now-exposed shoulder though his shirt. Martin let him.

Jon didn’t know if it was actually possible to faint from happiness, but he was rather glad he was still sitting on the desk as it seemed likely he was about to find out.

After a few moments Martin’s giggles subsided, and he straightened. He was still grinning. “I was going to tell you how I felt. Next time we were alone. Then you called me in here and I panicked because I hadn’t expected it to be  _ that  _ soon, and then you-” he cut himself off, seeming to lose track of the sentence as he stared into Jon’s eyes. “Can I kiss you again?”

“You can kiss me whenever you like,” Jon breathed, and Martin did.

This time, when they surfaced, Jon had a slightly better grasp on his thoughts.

“Wait, wait,” he said, hands on Martin’s shoulders - both to steady himself, and also because Martin had  _ really  _ nice shoulders. “Since when do you have feelings for me?”

“Since, like, forever?” Martin’s brow furrowed in confusion. It was adorable. “Wait, you didn’t know…” He trailed off, eyes widening. “Hold on, Jon, what was all that stuff about not deserving something?”

“Oh, I-” It seemed foolish, now, that he’d been on the verge of tears not that long ago. But the reasons still stood. “I was just- I didn’t think you liked me back, and I didn’t want you to think I, I  _ expected  _ anything from you, I know I’m- flawed, to put it mildly, and you’re- you’re  _ you,  _ so I just-”

Martin covered Jon’s mouth with one hand, frowning in earnest now. “Okay, one, you’re more oblivious than I thought, I’ve been  _ pretty  _ obvious about the way I feel, I thought you’d figured me out  _ ages _ ago.” Jon let out muffled protest against his hand, and Martin leaned forward to kiss his nose. Jon melted. “And  _ two,  _ everyone’s flawed. Doesn’t mean we can’t still fall for each other.”

He pushed Martin’s hand away, lacing their fingers together as he did so. “Martin, I’m not just flawed, I’m downright… mean. I mean, I was horrible to you when you were first assigned down here, I- I took you for granted so much.”

“Past tense.” Martin shrugged. “And before that, no, I didn’t really want to be with you. Still wanted to kiss you, mind,” Jon flushed, “but any feelings I had for you were definitely tempered by the way you acted. But you…” Martin smiled, and it was soft and fond. “I know, now, why you did that. You’ve explained. And… well, you’ve realized what you were doing. Admitted you were wrong. And yeah, sometimes you still get sharp with me - with  _ everyone  _ \- but I know it’s not malicious. And I forgive you.”

Jon stared at him. “You  _ really  _ mean that?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew. We’ve been friends for- well, quite a while, at this point.”

“Friends is a bit different than- than this, though.” Jon squeezed his hand.

“I hold my friends and my dates to the same standards, Jon. I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t like you. Like,  _ genuinely  _ like you, as a person.”

“Oh.” Jon’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. “Even though there’s an older, cooler, nicer version of me running around?”

_ “Nicer?”  _ Martin spluttered out a laugh. “Jon, Sims is  _ literally  _ a murderer. He is, as we speak, in the middle of an ongoing blackmail campaign against our boss so that he can extort funds from the Institute. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the guy,” Martin shrugged. “But he’s not  _ nice.” _

“You know what I mean,” Jon actually laughed. Everything Martin had said was finally starting to sink in, and there was a growing pool of warmth building in his chest and threatening to spill over. “Like you said, he’s a  _ murderer.  _ And even  _ he  _ called me an asshole.”

“He  _ what?”  _ Martin’s eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed in consideration. “Okay, maybe a little, but only to people you don’t know.”

“Oh, thank you  _ very  _ much.” Jon would have been more insulted if Martin wasn’t still holding his hand. If he wasn’t still standing close enough that Jon’s knees bracketed his hips. If he wasn’t smiling like that, and assuaging Jon’s insecurities with every word he spoke. “Good thing you’re nice enough for the both of us.”

“Don’t count on that too much,” Martin snorted. Then he paused, eyes searching Jon’s. “Seriously, though,” he said, voice soft. “I… really like you, Jon. Will you- will you come out for lunch with me? This weekend?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Martin flushed, and the last bit of tension bled out of Jon. Martin wanted to go on a  _ date  _ with him. “I would love to, Martin.”

He leaned forward, then hesitated. Martin saw the gesture and smiled. “You can kiss me whenever you like, too, you know.”

“Oh.” It came out on the barest of breaths. Jon crossed the remaining distance between them, pressing his lips to Martin’s, and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of being held.

~~~~~

Martin was lost in a happy haze. Jon was in his arms - Jon was kissing him - Jon  _ returned his feelings  _ \- so it took him a minute to process what Jon was saying, the next time they broke off for air.

“What was that?” he said, still distracted by Jon’s hand against his face and his own hands running through Jon’s hair.

“I said, Blackwood and Sims are going to be so damn smug about this,” Jon repeated, and Martin laughed.

“Worth it, though,” he said.

“Definitely.” Jon pulled him close again, kissing his nose, his jaw, his lips. “Definitely worth it.”


	12. You, and the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 2016 and on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are. The final chapter.
> 
> I want to give a _huge_ thank you to everyone who’s been following along, whether you’ve commented, left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed, or just read along without interacting. I have been utterly blown away by the love this story has received, and it has been an absolute joy these last twelve weeks to share it with you. ♥️♥️♥️

**September 2016**

“I still can’t believe the spooky clown lady is on  _ Instagram,”  _ Tim said.

Jon rolled his eyes at the over-used S word. “Well, the occult eye gentleman is, so why not the clown lady?”

“Okay, A, what on earth do you think qualifies you as a gentleman, and B,  _ you  _ never post. She has more followers than  _ I  _ do!”

They’d finally gotten a response to the gorilla-skin post the previous week, asking for details of location and accessibility for the purposes of ‘a photoshoot.’ Apparently the Circus was running an account full of ‘aesthetic’ pictures of old clowns, mannequins, and taxidermy. It would probably have fewer followers if they realized those mannequins were behind the camera, as well.

“A, he’s totally a gentleman, Tim, it’s your loss you’ve never been on a date with him,” Martin chimed in, “and B, he posts via my account. Also, Jared Hopworth’s on Instagram too. And I’m pretty sure I found Mike Crew’s Twitter page a few weeks back.”

“A, you have to say that, you’re his husband, and B, I don’t know who they are.”

“Bone man and lightning-scar guy,” Jon supplied. Tim grimaced.

“Oh. Ew.”

“Quite.”

“Anyway,” Martin continued, “a lot of Avatars still live pretty normal lives? I mean, most of them are like Jon, they didn’t know what they were getting into and never quite… stopped living? Just added extra, ah,  _ hobbies,  _ on the side. As it were. It’s why so many of them were angry with Mag- with Elias when he started the apocalypse.”

Tim didn’t seem to notice the stutter. They had decided  _ not  _ to share the information about Elias’s true identity with anyone in the past, as it was yet another card they held in reserve to use against him if  _ he  _ tried to move against  _ them. _

“You said this Orsinov was, like, built from pieces of other people that got chopped to bits. And plastic.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s a bit different.”

“We’re still not entirely sure  _ what  _ she is,” Jon said. “Which is, I believe, kind of the point.”

“But you know how to kill her.”

“Yes. Not much can survive an explosion like this.”

Tim nodded in satisfaction, turning back to watch the laptop screen. It was displaying the feeds from several cameras they had set up around the storage shed, and he was ready to grab the detonator the moment they saw movement.

Martin leaned in close to Jon’s shoulder as soon as it became clear Tim wasn’t continuing the conversation. “Not much indeed. You’re just  _ special.”  _ He pitched his voice up on the last word, adopting a cutesy tone usually reserved for small kittens and newborns.

Jon bit back a smile. “Shut up, Martin.”

Martin snorted.

The explosion itself was spectacular. Tim had the honors of setting it off, and there was grim satisfaction in his face when he hit the button. It quickly morphed into absolutely ecstatic joy upon watching the building go up in pieces, and Jon watched in amusement as Tim and Martin jumped around screaming several variations of  _ did you see that?!?  _ at each other long past the point when the final aftershocks had faded away.

Martin had spent the trip to the storage shed fondly reminiscing about burning statements while the Circus was blown up last time, as well. Apparently Jon had married a pyromaniac.

How wonderful.

Tim drove them back to the Institute after it was done, still grinning and muttering excitedly to himself. Whether he had truly needed the closure of being the one to trigger the explosion or not was moot at this point: one way or another, it had certainly put him in a good mood.

Martin fell asleep on Jon’s shoulder in the backseat of the car, and Jon spent the journey with one arm wrapped around him, smiling fondly as Martin’s face twitched in dreams. He knew, objectively speaking, that he’d been dealt a bad hand in life: he’d lost more often than he’d won, been injured so much he had more scar tissue than skin at this point, and started the goddamn apocalypse; but he couldn’t help feeling lucky, even so.

Martin murmured in his sleep, turning his face into Jon’s neck before settling again. Jon brushed a few strands of hair back from his forehead, kissing him softly.

Yes. He was very lucky, indeed.

**November 2016**

“You know, I had hoped to get a break from this with Blackwood and Sims out of the country,” Sasha said dryly. Martin contemplated flipping her off behind Jon’s back, but that would involve removing one of his hands from Jon’s hair, and he wasn’t exactly inclined to do that.

Jon was leaning over Martin’s desk, using one hand to brace himself against it while the other gripped Martin’s shoulder. Martin was half-standing from his chair, hands tight in Jon’s hair, kissing him.

Sasha and Tim were annoyed.

“Honestly, all he did was bring you tea, do you  _ really  _ have to suck his face off?”

Jon pulled back from Martin’s mouth for a moment to mutter a slightly embarrassed, “Shut up, Tim,” before returning to the task at hand.

Tim made a disgusted noise. Sasha sighed.

“I never would have guessed you two’d be the sort for PDA.”

“We’re usually not,” Martin responded, finally letting go of Jon. He fixed a bit of the hair he had mussed before sitting back down. “But it’s fun to annoy you guys.”

They tried to avoid it, if they could: amusing as Tim and Sasha’s reactions were, it also left Jon and Martin open to any teasing the others cared to throw their way, which tended to be a lot - not that they didn’t deserve it. It was also a bit weird around Blackwood and Sims, who always looked vaguely proud of the fact that Jon and Martin had finally gotten together - or gotten together so  _ soon, _ from their perspectives. But Blackwood and Sims were in America hunting vampires - or possibly hunting vampire hunters, they hadn’t been too clear on that point - and Jon and Martin had been left as the sole overly-affectionate couple in the Archives. They were rising to the challenge with glee.

Jon dragged Sims’ chair over to sit behind Martin’s desk, pointedly ignoring the rolling eyes from Sasha and Tim.

Martin took a sip of the tea Jon had brought him, and smiled. It was just the way he liked it, with an extra half-spoon of sugar to boot.

“Thanks, love,” he said, and watched with amusement as Jon fumbled the file he was trying to pick up and sent papers scattering across the floor. Martin had been using the epithet for about a month, now, and Jon had the same reaction every time.

Well, it was only fair. Jon had called him ‘darling’ the first night he’d spent over at Martin’s flat, and he’d nearly had a heart attack.

He was looking forward to the reaction he could get out of the judicious application of a ‘sweetheart.’

He helped Jon pick up the papers, and they were just sitting down again to start work - and they  _ were _ actually working on a case, there was a  _ legitimate  _ reason for Jon to be at Martin’s desk, no matter  _ what  _ Tim and Sasha said - when Sasha spoke again.

“Oh, hey, Melanie’s released her new episode!”

That was the cue for  _ everyone  _ to drag their chairs to her desk; they piled around her, leaning in to see the computer screen as she hit play. It had become a routine every time an episode dropped - even more so since Melanie had managed to convince her team to update their content.

_ “Welcome to Ghost Hunt U.K.!”  _ Her voice came out tinny on the computer speakers.  _ “Today we’re investigating a mysterious case of malicious mud in the suburbs of London. Could it be Buried activity? Or has it just been very rainy recently? Join us as we find out!” _

The theme music cut in with low, ominous strings as the show’s logo appeared on the screen. Sasha shook her head.

“I cannot  _ believe  _ they’re actually doing this. She’s going to get herself shot this time around too.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to stop her,” Tim said. “If Sims and Blackwood haven’t managed it by now, no one will.”

The episode proceeded with interviews with the various homeowners who had reported the mud, testing procedures to compare its composition and consistency against samples of regular mud, and frequent reminders of safety procedures that could be taken in the event of a Buried encounter. Melanie had taken full advantage of the file Sims had given her, and was making it her life’s mission to disseminate that information to the widest audience possible.

_ “Of course, no incident stands in isolation - unless it’s from the Lonely!”  _ She flashed a grin.  _ “So for a comparison with similar cases from the past, we turn to our correspondent from England’s top historical fears podcast: Georgie Barker of  _ What the Ghost!  _ Available on all good podcasting sites.”  _ The last line was delivered with a wink and a smile as Melanie was joined onscreen by Georgie. The collaboration between the two shows was relatively recent, and the couple had been thrilled to find that both of their audiences had almost immediately joined the fanbase of the other show.

_ “So, babe, what can you tell us about mud?” _

The final segment of the show was fan letters - various accounts of encounters with Smirke’s Fourteen that viewers had been able to identify and survive thanks to tips from the show.  _ This  _ was the reason Sims hadn’t entirely objected to Melanie pursuing encounters - despite muttering that the fan letters were  _ ‘dangerously close to statements’  _ \- she was actively helping people by sharing what she knew.

The show ended with the usual reminder to check the episode notes for links to various scientific studies and urban legends they had mentioned, and a ‘ _ See you next week!’  _ that was far too cheerful for a woman up to her knees in mud.

Sasha shook her head again as the credits rolled. “If Georgie wasn’t  _ literally  _ fearless, I’d say Melanie was the bravest person I know.”

“They certainly make quite a duo,” Jon chuckled fondly. “According to Georgie she had to physically drag Melanie away from cliff jumping over the summer because she wanted to test if the Vast was manifesting there.”

“Of  _ course  _ she did.” Sasha stood and stretched. “I’m going to go grab lunch. Anyone want to come with?”

They went to their usual cafe, the four of them crowding together around the booth in the corner. Martin looped his arm over Jon’s shoulders as they sat down, and Jon leaned into him with a small sigh of contentment.

He still couldn’t believe, sometimes, that they had actually gotten together. If someone had asked him a year ago whether he’d ever date Jonathan Sims - ever sit next to him in a small cafe across from their friends, arm around him, Jon reaching up to hold his hand where it rested on his shoulder - he’d have laughed in their face. As if Jon would ever like  _ him.  _ As if  _ he  _ would ever date a man who thought so little of him! Even if they did have a surprising amount in common, and he really wanted to kiss him…

Oh, how the tables turned.

Jon smiled at him, and the look on his face was so openly adoring that Martin would swear his heart stopped in his chest. He smiled back, and he must have looked just as besotted, because Tim put his head in his hands and groaned.

“Please. Not over lunch.”

“Sorry,” Martin said, not sorry at all, and tugged Jon a little closer.

**February 2017**

Jon’s phone  _ dinged!  _ for the tenth time in as many minutes. Martin frowned at it.

“What is it this time?”

“Still Julia.” Jon grimaced, turning the phone to Martin. “She’s convinced they’re on the trail of a Flesh Avatar. I keep trying to tell her, it’s just a weird dog.”

Martin peered at the picture. “That is a  _ very  _ weird dog.”

“Still just a dog, though.” He typed something quickly, then tossed the phone across the room to land on one of their armchairs. It disappeared in a pile of throw pillows.

“I still can’t believe you gave her your mobile number.”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t mind being a monster manual. It’s a more than fair price for Gerry’s freedom.” The phone  _ dinged!  _ again, muffled by the pillows, and his eyes narrowed. “What I  _ do  _ mind is being pestered while I’m busy with something else. I should have muted it.”

“You can go over there to get it if you like. I’m not moving.” Martin settled a little deeper into the couch, pointedly pulling his blanket up a few more inches. Jon huffed, setting his laptop aside for a moment to hook his hands under Martin’s arms and drag him sideways across the cushions. Martin squeaked in surprise, then settled in again with his head resting on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry, can’t move,” Jon said, over the sound of another  _ ding!  _ from the phone. “You’re going to have to wait, Julia, it’s my husband’s fault.” Martin snorted out a laugh, and Jon grinned at him while he fetched his laptop back to balance on his other knee. “Now, back to business…”

Jon tapped away at the laptop for another few minutes while Martin dozed.  _ He  _ didn’t know anything about hacking the police system, and he’d already done his part by arranging the train tickets.

“Oh...kay,” Jon said after a while. “I do  _ not  _ want to know where Sasha learned to hack into the police database, but I’ve done everything she told me to and I don’t think I’ve broken anything. If I’ve checked all the boxes I meant to, Daisy  _ should  _ get a few weeks of mandatory vacation time. Assuming Basira’s having the same reaction to Raynor that she did the first time around, she’ll already be free. You got the train tickets?”

“Already mailed ‘em,” Martin murmured. “With the letter we wrote. Should be enough to convince her to get Daisy away for a while.”

“Good.” Jon dropped a hand to Martin’s shoulder, absently rubbing circles into it through his thick sweater. Martin hummed in contentment, relaxing further under Jon’s ministrations.

“You know,” he said, dragging himself back from the edge of sleep, “you still haven’t told me why you think sending them to the safehouse will save Daisy.”

“Oh,” Jon said. His voice took on a slightly embarrassed tone, and Martin cracked one eye open to look at him. “Well, I, I figure, the Hunt is all about the unending chase. So if one were to allow themselves to get, uh,  _ caught,  _ as it were…”

“Wait.” Martin untangled one hand from the blanket and held it up to stop him. “You don’t mean…”

Jon shrugged. “They’ve been together quite a long while by this point. And we both know just how romantic Scotland can be.”

“Jon,” Martin laughed, “why didn’t you tell me your plan to save them was to get Daisy to  _ propose?” _

“Oh, I don’t think she  _ has  _ to be the one to propose,” Jon said. He grinned. “So long as she says yes. Come on, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It’s certainly original.” Martin wriggled into a half sitting position, propping one elbow on the couch cushions and giving Jon an adoring smile. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“Happy endings for everyone.” Jon turned back to his laptop. “It’s not our fault so many of our friends’ ‘happy endings’ are marriage.”

Martin shook his head fondly before letting it fall back to Jon’s knee. It was a rather bony pillow, but a comfortable one. “Other than those few specific friends whose ‘happy endings’ are blowing things up.”

“Or jumping headfirst into danger for the sake of higher views on their videos, yes.”

Martin hmmed, letting his eyes drift shut again. The only sounds in the room were the click of the keys as Jon typed, distant traffic, and both of their quiet breathing. There was an intermittent  _ whoosh  _ as the heating cycled on and off.

Eventually Jon set the laptop aside, returning his hand to Martin’s shoulder.

“Hey,” his voice was low. “You awake?”

“Somewhat.” He didn’t bother to open his eyes.

The smile in Jon’s voice was audible. “Ready for bed?”

“Hmm…” Martin shifted, pressing his face against Jon’s side and nosing at a spot he knew was ticklish. “Think I’ll just fall asleep right here.” Jon’s breath hitched as Martin hit the spot, and he grinned.

“Well, that, ah, that- Martin!” He was laughing now. Both hands moved to Martin’s head, carefully pushing him back and away from his target. He buried his fingers in Martin’s hair in recompense for the disruption, tugging it gently and massaging his scalp. “That would be fine with me, but I think your back will complain about it in the morning.”

Martin sighed. Jon was right. He dragged himself upright with immense effort, propping himself up against Jon. Jon laughed again, grabbing him around the waist as he threatened to topple over.

“Hi there.”

Martin opened his eyes to find himself mere inches from Jon’s face, practically still laying on top of him even though they were both, technically, sitting up. “Hi.”

“Think you’ll be able to make it to bed, or do I have to carry you?”

“As if you could.” Martin leaned forward with the words, kissing them into Jon’s cheek before finding his mouth. It was a bit sleepy - a bit sloppy - but he could feel Jon smile through it.

“Hmn. I’d probably throw my back out, and you’d  _ still  _ have to sleep on the couch, and then neither of us would be able to move in the morning.”

“Guess I’d better get up, then.” He pulled away with a sigh of disappointment, but Jon dragged him in for another kiss before he could vacate the couch entirely. “Thought you were the one saying it was time for bed?”

“It  _ is  _ time for bed,” Jon said. “Don’t know why you keep getting distracted.” His hands were back in Martin’s hair.

“Sure,  _ I’m  _ getting distracted.” Martin pulled away, smiling. “I still need to brush my teeth, and you need pajamas, then we can take this up again in bed.”

Jon stood from the couch, stretching. “I need to brush my teeth too.”

“I know, you taste like tea.” Martin grabbed the hand Jon extended to him, letting himself be dragged off the couch. He leaned forward into the motion, tilting his head back for another kiss that Jon delivered with a smile. “Yep. Tea.”

Jon yawned, pressing his face into Martin’s hair. “We’d better get moving, otherwise I’ll just fall asleep right here.”

“Hm. See, I probably  _ could  _ just carry you to bed.”

“No way.”

“Sure I could.”

“I’m taller than you, you’d never get my feet off the floor.”

“Bridal carry.”

Jon gave him a considering look. “Prove it. Tomorrow.”

“You’re on.” Martin tugged at his hand, pulling and then pushing him toward their bedroom. “Now go get changed before you collapse.”

“Fine, fine,” Jon shot him one last smile before leaving the room, and Martin stared after him for a moment with a fond grin. Then he shook his head, and went to brush his teeth.

**May 2017**

“Don’t read that.” Sims snatched the paper out of Jon’s hand in a casual motion as he strode by the desk, dropping it neatly into a file as he sat down behind his own. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Don’t tell me. It’s ‘spooky’?” He spoke the word with distaste.

“The spookiest. As a general rule, if anything mentions Hill Top Road, just pass it straight along to me.”

“Right.” Jon glanced at the door, checking that no one was about to walk in. He’d taken to doing most of his work in the assistants’ office for the sake of the company, but today Tim and Martin were out to lunch and Sasha and Blackwood were yarn shopping. They were alone. “So are you ever going to tell me what’s up with that place? You’ve been pretty cagey about it.”

Sims leaned back in his chair with a sigh, seeming to consider. “Well… the fact of the matter is,  _ I’m  _ not even entirely sure what’s going on there. There are… a  _ lot  _ of statements generated by Hill Top Road. Mostly by the Web, though there have been incidents with the Spiral and the Desolation as well. What I  _ can  _ tell you is that it’s not an active threat.”

“Very helpful, thanks.”

Sims shrugged. “I wish I could tell you more, I really do, but that’s genuinely the only thing I’m certain about.”

“Are you even sure about  _ that?”  _ Sims gave him an odd look, and Jon grimaced. “I’m just saying, it’s the  _ Web.  _ How do you know you’re not just thinking what it wants you to think?”

“I just do. Don’t forget, knowing is my job.” He shifted a couple of papers on his desk, frowning. “I do understand why you feel that way, though. Don’t forget, our histories only diverged relatively recently. I do… I was there, too.”

Jon glanced away.

“Have you told him?” Sims’ voice was soft.

“A little.” Jon bit his lip. “He- he didn’t press for details. It’s…  _ hard.  _ To talk about it. I think he understands.”

Martin always seemed to understand. Even before Jon worked up the courage to whisper that there was a  _ reason,  _ a good one, for why he didn’t like spiders, and that it went back to when he was eight. Martin had always understood that Jon’s phobia wasn’t something to push him to get past or laugh at him about.

“I’m sure he does,” Sims said. “Martin -  _ my  _ Martin - is good about that kind of thing. It took me a…  _ long  _ time to share that. He never pushed.”

“He’s amazing.” Jon’s voice came out slightly awed. He would have been embarrassed about that if he wasn’t sure that Sims felt the same.

“He really is. They are. However you want to phrase it.” Sims paused for a moment, and even though Jon wasn’t looking at him he knew they had the same slightly dazed, slightly disbelieving smile on their faces over the fact that someone like  _ Martin  _ could have fallen for someone like  _ them.  _ “How are things? Between you two?”

“Fantastic.” Jon’s smile spread into a grin. “We’ve been talking about moving in together, if we can find a flat. I’m already spending half my time over at his, anyway.”

“And the other half, he’s over at yours?”

“Yeah.” Jon face was starting to hurt. He lifted a hand, trying to massage the smile away. It didn’t work.

“I’m glad. I must admit, I was a little worried that coming back like this would change things, for the two of you. Make it too awkward for you to ever sort through your feelings.”

Jon finally glanced over at him. Sims was staring back, half a smile on his face and a nostalgic look in his eyes.

He shrugged. “I mean, I suppose for a little while it did. But it’s kind of hard to deny how someone makes you feel when your future self is hitting you over the head with it.”

Sims snorted. “True. Makes you wonder, though.”

“About?”

“Fate.” Sims picked up a pencil, balancing it across an outstretched finger. “Two different versions of us, two different versions of Martin. Both so perfectly suited for each other, despite how different our lives have become. Makes you wonder if maybe there isn’t something else behind it, some grand determination in our lives that says  _ no. Whatever else happens, the two of you need each other.”  _ The pencil tipped to the side, and he lifted his other hand to correct it.

“Are you talking about… what,  _ soulmates?” _

“Maybe. I’m not honestly sure.” Sims grinned, letting the pencil fall. “It’s a romantic notion, you have to admit.”

“True.” Martin had written a poem about that: two souls, so closely wound to each other that they’d find each other in every universe, through every hardship. “But I also like the idea that there’s… nothing. That it’s  _ our  _ choice to be what we are,  _ our  _ decisions that have led us here, our  _ responsibility  _ to keep working at it, and not let ourselves get torn apart by the rest of the world. And grander determination can fuck off.”

“I quite agree with you there.” Sims paused. “Though given my own role in getting you and your Martin together, perhaps I should be insulted by you telling me to fuck off.”

Jon laughed. “What, are you  _ fate  _ now? Bit of a high opinion of yourself, don’t you think?”

“Knowing the future, carefully controlling events to make sure a certain series of things comes to pass… no, no, I think I’m quite justified in that opinion.” Sims threw his shoulders back self-importantly. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I think I have to make the final call. You and Martin were fated to be together, because I, an agent of fate, was going to keep trying to matchmake you until the day you died if you didn’t go ahead and take the initiative yourself.”

“Oh, well, thanks for that,” Jon said it sarcastically, but there was no bite to it. “Lovely to know you got to make your own choices but mine were all predetermined.”

“Isn’t it just?” Sims grinned again. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you two. You being together… it’s not just trying to force you to follow the same path me and Martin have. You’re just… good for each other. Even though it’s different than us.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jon raised an eyebrow. “Martin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And we didn’t need the whole ‘bonded by trauma’ thing you’ve got going on to get there.”

Sims nodded sagely. “Bonding via trauma is very much not the recommended course of action for finding a partner.”

“Quite.” Jon glanced down at his hands to hide his smile, spreading them flat on the desk for a moment. “On a different note, I do have work to be getting on with, and if we keep talking like this I’m just going to end up rambling about Martin all afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t particularly mind that, but you do have a point.” With that, Sims flipped open one of the files on his desk and started reading. Jon turned back to his own work.

It was… weird, as always, talking to his future self. Their conversations often took a course that was practically an internal monologue brought to life, and it wasn’t unusual for them to end by simply deciding to ignore each other for a bit. But… Jon had to admit, he  _ did  _ actually get along with Sims. Sometimes. In the weird way that came from understanding each other completely, and using that understanding to annoy each other more than anyone else in the universe if they so wished. Martin - both Martin’s - laughed at them for it.

_ Martin.  _ Jon’s train of thought derailed as it always did when he thought about his boyfriend. They were going to start looking for flats soon, and then they’d move in together, and then… well, they had their whole lives ahead of them. Maybe they’d adopt a pet. Maybe they’d plan a vacation together. Neither of them had done much traveling. Maybe…

He realized he was staring absently at the wall, a small smile on his face as he imagined the possibilities. He shook himself, glancing over at Sims to see if he’d noticed.

Sims was also staring at the wall, with a smile that suggested he was thinking about Blackwood.

Sometimes Jon thought it was nice to have a person so similar to himself in the world. Sometimes he thought it was annoying. Sometimes it was just weird.

He shook his head, turning back to his computer and clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sims startle and glance over at Jon to see if he’d noticed his distraction. Jon raised an eyebrow, refusing to acknowledge the glance.

Very,  _ very  _ weird.

**Thursday, October 18, 2018; Dawn**

Jon woke early.

One of his arms was pinned by a heavy weight, and another weight pressed against his chest. This was normal.

He cracked open an eye. The light in the room was dim, with that watery, bluish quality that suggested it was just before dawn. Most of the room was lost to indistinct shapes and shadows, but he could still see Martin curled next to him, one arm thrown over Jon’s chest and Jon’s arm trapped under his side.

He flexed his fingers gently, debating whether or not he could free the arm without waking Martin. On balance, he decided, it wasn’t worth it: it was still too early to be getting ready for work anyway, and he was  _ very  _ comfortable where he was. He’d probably have hellish pins and needles in the limb when he finally did move it, but that was a problem for later.

What he  _ did  _ do was free his other arm from the blanket and reach up to lace his fingers with the hand Martin had thrown over his chest. It was very warm: Martin always ran a few degrees higher than Jon.

_ Everything  _ was warm, in fact. Warm blankets, warm boyfriend, warm dawn light starting to break through the blue. Jon was going to fall asleep again if he wasn’t careful, and he didn’t see why he should bother to fight it.

He shifted slightly, angling his body toward Martin and away from the window to block out the light. Martin sighed softly in his sleep, fingers curling tighter around Jon’s. Jon held his breath, hoping he hadn’t woken him… no. Martin relaxed again, breath evening out, and Jon smiled.

He loved Martin. So much. He’d told him, too, and Martin loved him back.

That had been a while ago, and they said it all the time now, but it was still nigh-on unbelievable. Jon was pretty sure he was constantly setting records for just how happy a human could be, every time he thought about it.

Happiness wasn’t going to keep him awake, though, no matter how much it set his heart racing. He pushed his head forward, hiding it in Martin’s chest and effectively ignoring the growing brightness in the room. They’d have to wake up and face the day at some point - go to work, get things done, acknowledge the fact that yes, there was a wider world out there beyond their little bubble of domestic bliss - but not yet. Right now, they could stay here, cozy and warm.

Jon fell asleep.

**Thursday, October 18, 2018; Sunset**

The sunset painted streaks of orange and red across the London skyline. There was a beautiful view of it from the roof of the Institute; it was a small building, but well situated for seeing over its neighbors. Perhaps not such a strange thing, when its history was taken into account.

Jon wrapped his arms tighter around Martin, and Martin leaned back into his chest. They hadn’t spoken since coming up here, watching in silence as the day came to a close.

The last sliver of sun slipped over the horizon, leaving behind gold-painted clouds and a deep streak of darkness creeping over the opposite side of the sky. The light faded gradually, slowly being replaced by the electric glow rising from the city. A few stars fought their way through, piercing the sky in defiance of the light pollution. Finally, it was night.

“And just like that, the world doesn’t end,” Martin murmured.

Jon nodded, letting the side of his head brush Martin’s so he could feel the motion without looking. “We did it.”

Martin turned in his arms, cupping his hands around Jon’s face and drawing him into a kiss. He didn’t say anything afterwards, just looped his arms around Jon’s shoulders and tucked his head against his chest. Jon returned the hug, and they stood in silence for a long time.

A breeze picked up. Jon shivered, finally pulling back. “We should head home. It’s getting late.”

“Right.” Martin took his hand, but hesitated. “Jon?”

“Yes?”

“What happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Martin looked up at him, and he was smiling. “We did it. Everything we came back to do. This, right now, today…  _ this  _ is what we came back to change. Everything we’ve lived after this point was focused on getting back to now and stopping it. And we have. So what happens next?”

“Well, I think…” Jon glanced out at the city, humming with life around them. At the sky, clear and free. At Martin. “The future.”

Martin’s smile turned wry. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Jon held up their joined hands between them. “We did it. Saved the world, saved our friends, completed our mission. End of story. Now… we get to live.”

Martin stared at him. “Happily ever after?”

“I wouldn’t say our lives have been a fairy tale, but… yes. Happily ever after. Nothing’s stopping us.”

“That’s true.” He squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon took the cue to lean down and kiss him again. Martin was grinning when he pulled back. “It’s gonna be pretty weird just living. Nothing trying to stop us, even.”

_ “Right?”  _ Jon exaggerated his enthusiasm, and Martin laughed. “Imagine it. You and me, with nothing trying to kill us. Going down to the shops and  _ not  _ getting attacked by a monster.  _ Ever again!” _

They started walking toward the stairs off the roof.

“I’ll be able to buy clothes and not have to worry if they’re going to show bloodstains,” Martin said, voice tinged with awe.

“We can redecorate the flat without worrying if our furniture is heavy enough to barricade the door.”

“We can  _ move.  _ We’ve spent so long in London, but we can go wherever we want, so long as we take statements with us.”

Jon held open the door to the stairs, waving Martin through it with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “The future awaits. After you, Mr. Blackwood-Sims.”

“Why, thank you very much, Mr. Blackwood-Sims,” Martin laughed.

The door shut softly behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art:
> 
> [@michillangelo’s](https://michillangelo.tumblr.com/) art can be seen [here.](https://cirrus-grey.tumblr.com/post/625083964851404800/michillangelo-im-only-a-couple-chapters-into)
> 
> [@sticksthestrangeone’s](https://sticksthestrangeone.tumblr.com/) art can be seen [here.](https://cirrus-grey.tumblr.com/post/642113419435212801)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Things I Almost Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407715) by [Haberdasher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher)
  * [One Step Behind Your Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096730) by [Haberdasher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher)
  * [a map of what matters most](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318352) by [gruhukens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruhukens/pseuds/gruhukens)




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